Finding the Light
by TallTalesInk
Summary: Can you hear it? Can you hear the cannons booming? Can you hear the bodies falling? Boom. Boom. Boom. The sound echoes through the night, as 24 tributes grovel, trying to find the light.
1. Prologue

Kegan Capiton, Victor of the 64th Hunger Games

* * *

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Kegan felt his stomach twist into a knot and he spun around in his chair, looking for the source of the noise. His eyes settled on the face of Alana Nolan, his boss. In her hands she was holding a broken stick, which she proceeded to snap in half several more times. Kegan gritted his teeth as he tried not to let it show how much that noise bothered him, but he found little success.

"Please stop that," he pleaded quietly.

"Why? Does it bother you Capiton?" Alana asked, a cruel smile stretching across her lips.

"Yes. Yes it does," Kegan replied unhappily.

"You know what it reminds me of?" Alana asked as she broke the stick again. "The sound your District partner's neck made when it snapped in half."

Kegan closed his eyes, as he tried to keep his breathing even. He had to put up with this god awful torture every day, but this time of the year seemed to be the worst. See, Kegan worked at the Nut as per the direct order of President Snow. Alana had been placed there under the specific instructions to make sure that he was doing his job to the best of his abilities. Usually she didn't have much to complain about. Kegan was the smartest citizen of District Two in decades. Alana couldn't comprehend his notebook even if she tried.

The problem was that tomorrow was reaping day. He would be a mentor of course; he won the Games two years ago, and they liked it when the mentors were younger. That meant that he wouldn't be able to work though for the following month. Even if he technically didn't do anything wrong, a month of vacation time was the perfect excuse for Alana to start making things worse for him. God, he hated her.

"May I ask you your point in telling me this," Kegan asked unhappily.

"No point, just an observation," Alana smiled.

"Then I am going to have to ask you to leave," Kegan said. "I'm in the middle of outlining that new laser we were discussing. I need to focus."

"How much progress have you made since my last check in," Alana asked, her tone switching back over to business mode.

"A moderate amount," Kegan answered.

"Will you finish before you leave?" she went on.

"Probably not," he replied.

"Then I will expect you to work on it while you're away. If your tribute dies as early as Brody did last year, than you should have plenty of free time over in the Capitol anyway," she said.

Kegan sighed, but nodded. Last year he had mentored a fit eighteen year old named Brody Rodgers. He had never liked Brody when he was in training, but he had worked rediculously hard trying to bring him home. Brody was supposed to volunteer the year Kegan won, but they had switched due to some extrenhuating circumstances. It had been the least Kegan could do for the guy. Alana thought it was hilarious that Brody had died on day three. Although even she wasn't all that happy that Finick Odair had won from Four.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and a burly guy stepped in. "Mam Ms. Carramay is here for Mr. Capiton," he said.

Kegan's eyebrows shot up. He wasn't expecting Zia for another half an hour. "I think I have to leave then," Kegan muttered as he rose to his feet. Just as Alana opened her mouth to protest he gathered up his work. "I will come back ready to begin construction."

He flew from his office before Alana had a chance to stop him. Jogging out of the building, Kegan quickly found Zia sitting underneath a tree waiting for him. "Hey," he called to her wearily.

"Hey," she smiled back. "How bad was she today?"

"Bad," Kegan answered.

Zia frowned as Kegan helped her to her feet. "Are you okay?" she asked tentatively. Kegan shrugged, and Zia slipped her hand through his.

After his Games, Kegan had been left a broken mess. His district partner had sacrificed herself so that he could win. The memory of it tormented Kegan constantly, but worse than the morbid nightmares he retained about his awful time in that arena, the thing that bothered him the most was the uncertainty regarding why she did it. He didn't remember a time when the two of them didn't hate each other. Her sacrifice still haunted him today.

Zia had been helping him cope with it though. She had been Chateaux's best friend once, before Kegan knew her. Zia offered him a kind of explanation that made some sort of sense of the broken pieces of his memories. But even after he had heard all of her stories and discussed the topic of Chateaux to death, he hadn't stopped visiting Zia. Then last year after he had come home from a month of unsuccessful mentoring, she had become more to him than just a friend. Along with his sister, Chastel, she was one of the few people that made him feel sane again.

"Have you visited the training center recently? To find out who you're going to be mentoring this year. The dean would already have the two tributes picked out," Zia said, as the two started the fifteen minute walk to Victor's Village.

"No, I don't want to know until the reaping. That way I won't have a face to have nightmares about yet," Kegan muttered in response. Zia sighed, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Just wait a few more years," she said quietly. "It will be better once you don't have to mentor anymore."

Kegan smiled a little. That was his Zia, always the optimist. According to her, things would always be getting better in the future. "If you say so," he replied doubtfully. Of course, if he was being honest about things, then he would tell her that he knew, things would never truly get better.

* * *

** A/N: Hello one and all. So some of you already know this, but this is the, sequel to Fading to Darkness. If you feel like reading about Kegan's games, then go check it out on my profile. If not (cause its a pretty long story) then you won't have to read it in order to understand this story. Also in case you haven't noticed, this will be the 66th Hunger Games, not the 65th. I know that Fading to Darkness was the 64th, but if I wrote this as the 65th that would mean that Finnick would never have won his Games, and de-cannonizing Finnick would be a crime**

**Book cover for this story belongs to Zouavman le Zouave, I found it on wikimedia**


	2. District One Reaping

Porcelain Braavos, 17, District 1

* * *

Porcelain sat in the common room as Merlot Francis, one of the younger girls at the Academy, carefully ran a brush through her bright auburn hair. A light smile lit up her face as her eyes scanned the room excitedly. Girls in light frilly dresses were pouring out of the bathrooms, bickering over mirror space and chattering about accessories. They laboriously scrutinized their faces, slathering make-up onto their eye lids, cheek bones, and lips. Porcelain was the only girl above the age of twelve who wasn't wrapped up in the hustle of the reaping preparation. No, she sat on the plush couch, with her eyelids fluttered shut and a hair tie twirling delicately in her dainty finger tips, as others concerned themselves with her appearance.

"You're hair is so pretty today," Merlot sighed as she ran the brush through it another time.

Porcelain sighed, quite satisfied. "Oh darling, I'm sure its just because you did such a good job with it," she smiled endearingly. She wasn't used to this type of princess treatment. For the past five years, she had been one of the other thirty girls who got caught up elbowing their way to the mirror in the crowded bathroom on reaping day. Not this year though. She was chosen this time around, and everybody knew that if the chosen girl wished it so, the others would worship her like she was a goddess, if only for a day.

The chance had been to good to pass up. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet as when some of the younger girls woke her up that morning, all begging to have a chance to do her hair and make-up. The word thrilled didn't seem grandiose enough to cover the joy that sang through her gut.

"Thank you," Merlot smiled back cheerily. "You said you wanted me to curl it, like I do for Jade sometimes?"

"Yes, that would be just wonderful," Porcelain said. "I saw little Jade just the other day getting dressed up for the parent visits, and her hair looked dazzling. You completely transformed her from the way she normally looks. If she looked so pretty with her hair like that, I can't even imagine how gorgeous you'll make me look for the reaping."

Porcelain snuck a glance over to the corner, where a petite twelve year old girl was subconsciously touching her hair as she glanced back over to a mirror. Trying to hide her smile, Porcelain's eyes fluttered shut again. The dig had completely went completely unnoticed by every other girl in the room.

Yes, today was a good day.

After a half an hour of pulls and tugs from the curling iron, Merlot finished Porcelain's hair. With a gleeful bounce in her step, Porcelain glided over to the stairs, and began to descend to the first floor. The other students scampered out of her way as she walked, shouting good wishes as she passed. She felt as if she was positively glowing with excitement when she came out into the courtyard.

Suddenly a strong figure wavered out into the hallway, knocking into her. "Goodness," Porcelain cried out as she grabbed at the railing to steady herself. Her gut flared with annoyance as she looked up to see who she had just bumped into.

A tall muscular man was clutching the wall as he ran a hand through his messy black hair. A light stubble covered his chin, and his eyes were bloodshot. For a moment his shoulders seemed tense. Then after staring at Porcelain for a moment, his frame sagged. "Oh," he hiccupped. "It's you."

"Sterling," Porcelain frowned, carefully as she stepped around him. "How good to see you today."

"Good," Sterling paused, looking unsteady. "S'not good. You're gonna die you know. I don't want to see you today."

Porcelain sighed. Sterling was one of the instructors at the Academy, and the victor of the Sixty Second Hunger Games. Looking at him now though, no one would ever guess that he was so young. The first year he had won, he was the picture image of energetic optimism. He even brought home another victor, Ritz, in his very first year of mentoring. It was the second year of mentoring that had induced the drinking, after Autumn Mistveil, Sterling's sweetheart died. They weren't letting him mentor any new tributes anymore, but for whatever reason, they couldn't manage to fire him from his job here at the academy as a trainer.

Porcelain looked over her shoulder, checking to make sure nobody else was around before she answered. "Really, I'm going to die?" she sneered nastily. "Just because your Autumn wasn't tough enough to win the Games doesn't mean I'm not."

Sterling stared at her, a look of disbelief, anger, and pain splashing across his face. Porcelain didn't wait for him to respond. Instead she continued her gradual decent down the steps, towards the courtyard and towards stardom.

* * *

Rubin Royal, 17, District 1

* * *

The courtyard was the picture of chaos as a constant stream of future tributes and proud parents greeted each other enthusiastically. Rubin walked through the regal gate to the academy and into the gorgeous lawn area, his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for a certain familiar face.

"Hey Rubin," an excited voice called out. Rubin spun around, a grin already stretched onto his face. Of course, there was a lot of people calling his name in the crowd, but it was impossible to miss that one voice. Glint was never a quiet boy.

Just a few heads away, Rubin's best friend stood waving at him. Glint's dark brown hair was greased back, and he was wearing a crisp checkered sweater with sleek black slacks. He looked rather thin in the dress cloths actually, as they brought out the lankiness in his frame. He was about a head taller than Rubin, standing tall in the crowd. He had been talking with a couple other guys from the academy before he saw Rubin, but after spotting him, he dropped that conversation immediately

"Hey man, what's up," Rubin called out excitedly as he jogged over to greet his best friend. The two boy's clapped their hands together and pulled each other into a rather exaggerated bear hug.

"You ready for the big day?" Glint asked as he messed with his dark brown hair.

"I've been ready for years," Rubin replied excitedly. The two boys headed back out the gate to the road as the continued to chat. Glint's parents never came to visit him, and as Rubin's mother had to sell their car after his grandfather had died, the two of them would be walking to the reaping.

"You tell your mom they picked you yet?" Glint asked as they travelled down the cobblestone path.

"Nope," Rubin shook his head.

Glint laughed, patting Rubin's back with one of his hands. "She's going to freak out you know," he informed his friend.

"You can't blame her though. You know she's got some mixed feelings towards the Games after my dad and all," Rubin rolled his eyes. "She'll feel better when I come home though. Then things can go back to normal."

If Rubin just closed his eyes, he could already see the big house in Victor's Village all lit up for his homecoming. He missed the smell of his grandfather's hulking mansion, the smell of home. Ever since the old man had keeled over, Rubin had been working his bones dry trying to make ends meet. He was done with it all now though. No more long hours working in the Diamond mine. No more worrying about how he was going to make rent. Things could be just like they used to, with him and his mom living back in his grandfather's old house, living the good life.

"Ha, she'll never forgive you," Glint cried out dramatically. Rubin rolled his eyes, laughing a little as they walked.

Around them the city was starting to grow. The Academy was located about a mile into the suburban homes of the country side of District One. Students often would go out and visit the city when they had time. It wasn't the largest metropolitan area in Panem, but it was by far the wealthiest one next to the Capitol. Golden streamers and celebratory banners hung from the buildings as people celebrated one of the biggest holidays of the year. Rubin knew that by that afternoon there would be posters plastered all over the place with his face on it, wishing him good luck in the Games this year. He couldn't wait.

"Did you hear who you're going with?" Glint asked.

"Yeah, um, I think the Dean said Porcelain Braavos was going to be my District partner," Rubin answered absently as he admired the decorations.

"Ung," Glint groaned. "Sugar girl? That sucks man. Sorry."

"Sugar girl?" Rubin asked confused.

"Right you weren't there for that conversation. Well, Sugar girl is what Bronze Layman calls her, you know 'cause she's so fake. It's like everything she says was dipped in a bowl of sugar, but you know what's underneath isn't so sweet," Glint explained.

Rubin rolled his eyes. "I think you've lost it," he said, elbowing his friend. "She seemed nice enough the few times I've talked to her."

"That's just it though, she's way too nice. It's unnatural," Glint exclaimed.

"Whatever," Rubin replied as they neared the check in station. "Come on, we've got to go find our spots."

* * *

Porcelain Braavos, 17, District 1

* * *

Porcelain looked around the square excitedly as it began to fill up. The excitement in the air was palpable as she looked from face to face. Of course, not everyone knew that she was going to volunteer. The Academy liked to keep their chosen tributes a secret so that the regular citizens would be surprised on Reaping day. The only people who knew were the other teachers and students from the Academy. All of the other kids in the District were looking around face to face, trying to guess who would be representing District One this year.

"You're from the Academy right?" an excited voice asked next to her.

Porcelain looked over, an exaggerated smile already stretched across her lips. "Why yes dear," she said. The girl she was speaking to had long brown hair, and a big nose that didn't quite fit her face. Honestly, she was rather unattractive, but she was wearing that admiring glimmer in her eye. Porcelain decided that she would tolerate her.

"Oh, that must be so exciting, do you know who's going to be volunteering this year?" the girl gushed.

"Of course I do," Porcelain nodded.

"Don't tell me," the girl said quickly. "I love surprises."

"Yeah, surprises are just splendid aren't they?" Porcelain agreed.

On stage, Mayor Cunningham stepped up to the microphone, tapping it gently to get everyone's attention. His son volunteered two years ago. Porcelain believed the boy's name had been Eros, or something to that effect. It had been rather embarrassing for the Mayor when his son had died. He had bet a rather large sum of money on those Games. He was the laughing stock of the District for months.

"It's good to see everyone gathered together again," the mayor began as he started his annual speech. Porcelain had already memorized every single word of it already though. She had heard it repeated a thousand times over in the old reaping re-runs that they aired in the Academy's cafeteria. It lasted about fifteen minutes before Neptune Boxright, their District escort stepped up for his turn in the spotlight.

His shaggy blue hair was longer than Porcelain remembered, and his skin seemed even paler than normal. Other than that, he seemed to be the same Neptune that had been escorting District One tributes for the past four years, with his huge genuine smile glowing warmly on his face. "Oh, how good it is to see all of your shining faces again this year," Neptune beamed. "I guess we should keep things short. Let's start with the ladies."

Porcelain felt her heart swell as he reached into the bowl and pulled out a name. "Do I have a Ravish Turlington?" A girl in the eighteen year old section jogged up to the stage, looking slightly annoyed that the reaping bowl had pulled her away from the conversation she'd been having with her friend. Once she had reached the stage, Neptune looked back out to the crowd. "Any volunteers?" he asked hopefully.

Porcelain shot her hand into the air. "I do, I volunteer," she called out as she delicately made her way up to the stage. Excited whispers travelled through the crowd as they watched her take her spot to the right of Neptune. Obviously they already loved her.

"Onto the boys," Neptune grinned, reaching into the reaping bowl. He pulled out another slip of paper, and carefully unfolded it. "Burgundy Platt?"

A small boy from the seventeen year old section jumped cringed slightly at the sound of his name, of course he wasn't up on stage long before Neptune asked for the male volunteer.

"I volunteer," a deep husky voice called out, also from the seventeen year old section. Porcelain watched as Rubin made his way up to the stage, grinning and waving to the crowd. He was tall muscular and blonde, with a strong square jaw and bright blue eyes. Obviously the Capitol was going to fall in love with him over the course of the following week. Back at the Academy, he was one of the more popular guys, though he and Porcelain never talked much. She knew he was going to be a strong competitor though. Something about that knowledge though made her even more excited. Oh, she couldn't wait for the Games.

* * *

Rubin Royal, 17, District 1

* * *

"Mom, really, it's going to be okay," Rubin said as she patted his mother's back. The woman was sobbing into his shoulder as he tried to console her, unsuccessfully.

"That's what your father told me you know," she cried, shooting him an accusing look. "I should have never let Price send you into training after your father died."

"Come on, don't blame Grandpa. You know it's not nice to insult dead people," Rubin joked with a sigh. "I'm more ready than dad though. Don't worry. Any ways, if he made it all the way to third place, then I should be solid. This is what he would have wanted, you know."

"You couldn't have told me that you were going to volunteer? How long have you known? A couple of days? A week?" she sobbed.

Rubin frowned, he hated seeing his mother, Platinum, like this. He loved her more than anything. Perhaps he should have told her that he had been chosen to volunteer earlier. That way these last few minutes with her wouldn't be marred with tears. "Mom, please stop it. Come on, be happy for me. This is what I want," he protested gently.

Platinum drew away from him, wiping her tears on her sleeve. "You're too much like your father for your own good," she sighed.

Rubin laughed. "Well good, I hear he wasn't all that bad a guy."

"Now you listen to me," his mother said, a sudden stern edge present in her voice. "You try your hardest to come home to me. I know that this past year hasn't been easy on you without your grandfather, and I know you haven't been as happy as you used to be, but you need to be smart, understand? You can win this. You have to."

"Yeah alright mom," Rubin sighed as he hugged her one last time. "Just don't worry. Everything's going to be fine."

* * *

Porcelain Braavos, 17, District 1

* * *

A short man with dark, greying hair stepped into the room. He was wearing a black suit that made his eyes seem infinitely darker than they actually were, and his chin was smooth and clean shaven. His stomach was rather round and paunchy. The man was ridiculously clean and tidy, without so much as a speck of dust interrupting his pristine get up, yet despite this, the air around him had a rather dirty feel to it. It was as if the man radiated some kind of untangible chilly aura.

"That's my little girl," he grinned, opening his arms up. Porcelain smiled back at him, eagerly accepting his hug.

"Hi daddy," Porcelain said happily.

"You didn't tell me you were volunteering this year," he said, a teasing accusation in his tone.

"Oh, well I wanted it to be a surprise," Porcelain dismissed nonchalantly. Though, it had been a combination of that and the fact that the man never visited her at the Academy. She wouldn't have had the chance to tell him in person even if she had wanted to.

"Very good then," her father nodded. "How have you been?"

"Oh, well you know that the people at the Academy are just dreadful," Porcelain rolled her eyes. It was always nice talking to her father. She didn't have to pretend around him. "I've had to put so many of them in their place. But things have been better since I got chosen. They've started giving me the respect that I properly deserve."

Her father laughed a deep gritty laugh. "I bet they have," he grinned. "I'll be so proud of you if you win, Porcelain."

"Aren't you proud that I got picked?" Porcelain said, a little too quickly.

"Of course, princess. But I'll be so much more proud after you win," he responded, smoothing back his hair. At the door, the peacekeeper poked his head in, signalling that their time was dwindling. Porcelain smoothed down her dress, slightly disappointed with her father's response.

"I'll see you on the homecoming day daddy," she hugged him one last time.

"Luster Braavos, father of the famous victor Porcelain Braavos. I can hear it already," the man grinned. "I will see you soon darling."

"See you soon," she replied. "See you soon."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Hiya,**

**So most importantly, the blog is up. Here is the URL (you have to remove the spaces): findingthelighthg. blogspot. com**

**If that doesn't work the link is on my profile page. It'd be awesome if you let me know the top 3 tributes that stand out to you along with why (the picture is an acceptable reason)**

**So this past week has been painful. I can't go an entire week without writing. It just doesn't work that way. But its okay now because I can start writing again. Any who, the official tribute list is bellow. I've pm'ed everybody so that everyone knows what's going on with their characters personally.**

**So everybody knows, I'm doing the reapings in order this time (so next up is D2)**

**Also appoligies if this chapter has some errors in it. I wrote it pretty quickly.**

**Here's the list:**

**District 1-**

**Male:Rubin Royal **

**Female:Porcelain Braavos **

**District 2-**

**Male:Vladimir "Vlad" Pekelo **

**Female:Alexis Hayden**

**District 3-**

**Male:Avell Watts **

**Female:Auden Eneis **

**District 4-**

**Male:Airin la Aguila **

**Female:Rocio Grievers**

**District 5-**

**Male:Petro Joule **

**Female:Mae Themis **

**District 6-**

**Male:Remendado "Dust" Lectart **

**Female: Crescent Lollium **

**District 7-**

**Male:Kan Murcius **

**Female: Rowan Diatello**

**District 8-**

**Male:Dice Bromton **

**Female: Avana Welcher **

**District 9-**

**Male:Ghram Aintree **

**Female: Zea Bachmier **

**District 10-**

**Male:Whisper Releig **

**Female:Mellivora "Ranger" Capen **

**District 11-**

**Male:Damien Creast **

**Female:Cree Ophelia **

**District 12-**

**Male:Burnet Stevens **

**Female:Cutter Wryer **


	3. District Two Reaping

Vladimir "Vlad" Pekelo, 18, District Two

* * *

The two long poles clanked together as the two began to circle each other. Sweat dripped from their brows, soaking through the back of their shirts. Above them, the clouds were darkening, violently threatening to drown the world. Around the two aggressors, four other figures stood, watching with extreme interest.

The boy was bigger than the girl. His muscles rolled taut underneath his thin white training shirt. A vein in his arm popped out as his fist clenched tightly around his pole. His electric blue eyes glowed as they watched the girl's face, instead of her pole- a mistake.

She was smaller than him, but she saw his eyes. In a swift movement, she struck her pole out, at her opponent's feet, away from his attention. It struck the boy's calf hard, clanking loudly in the process. He looked down in surprise and dropped to his knees as he swung his pole out to push hers away. Twisting around, he spun underneath her weapon, striking at her mid-section. She somehow blocked it though, sensing the attack. Again she went on the offensive as a light cheer rang out from one of their audience, rooting for the boy. He ducked under her swing, batting her pole away yet again. Precise attentiveness shined in his features as he took advantage of her now vulnerable state.

Dropping his pole, the boy sprang to his feet, tacking the girl. She fell backwards, a surprised squeal escaping her lips as she dropped into the mud. Immediately he was on top of her, pinning her arms down with his knees. She tried to struggle and escape, but he was bigger than her.

"Cheater," she screeched venomously.

"Winner," he corrected with a grin.

"You got me muddy," she hissed again. "The reaping is in an hour."

"Sorry Spring," he laughed. "But you know, a win is a win."

"Ten seconds," a husky voice interrupted them approvingly. "Not bad. If you can beat Spring that quickly, then the untrained kids from the outer district should be cake."

"Vlad if you don't get off of me right now I swear I am going to..." Spring growled.

"Alright relax," Vlad sighed, jumping off her and walking over to join his older brother, Zande, who had just spoken. "What was your read on the technique."

"Stop looking into her eyes and look at her core. Her eyes can be looking anywhere, but she's not going anywhere without moving her core," Carlyle, Vlad's oldest brother, chastised. "It was awful really. If you do that in the Games, you're going to die."

"I'm not going to die," Vlad snapped, his jaw clenching. He was willing to joke about a lot of things, but losing was not one of them. Vladimir Pekelo was not a loser. Suddenly he felt something sticky splatter across the back of his head. Instinctively, he spun around, already in a fighting stance, only to have another wad of brown goop smack across his face. He could hear his younger brother Declan giggling as he wiped the mud off of himself.

"Oh, sorry Vlad, but a wins a win," Spring sneered before she stomped away back towards the house. She was most likely going to go occupy the shower.

"Oh my gosh," Sola, Spring's twin, cried. "I'm so sorry, she shouldn't have done that." Vlad suddenly felt some kind of cloth squashing against his face as his younger sister fussed over him.

"Sola. Sola, stop," Vlad protested.

"No, it was one thing for her to get dirty. She's not volunteering today," Sola went on. "Oh, my gosh, what are we going to do. You shouldn't have even been practicing out here. Look at the sky, it's going to rain soon."

"Sola stop!" Vlad repeated, this time much louder. "It's okay. We still have an hour, and I was going to have to shower again after getting all sweaty anyways. It's no big deal." Taking the rag from his sister, he began to slowly back away from his siblings, and headed towards the shower.

* * *

Alexis Hayden, 16, District Two

* * *

Alexis looked away from the mirror where she was carefully doing her hair and over to the window. Had she just imagined the noise, or was something dinging against the glass? Walking over to it curiously, she looked outside. A young teenage boy was standing on the ground below her bedroom, throwing pebbles at her window. When he saw her face through the glass, a bright boyish grin lit up his features. She giggled giddily as she pulled up the window, leaning out slightly so that she could see him better.

"Hey, are you done getting ready yet, tribute girl?" Nolan called up from the ground. He was holding a large bouquet of flowers in his hands, and he waved them above his head to show her.

"Almost," Alexis called back. "Just give me another second, I'll be right down."

In truth, she still had another half an hour of prep left, but she wouldn't keep Nolan waiting, not if he was here with flowers. So she slipped into her little black pencil skirt and shimmering gold tank top and scampered down the steps. When she reached the kitchen, she found that Alana, her adoptive younger sister had let Nolan in. The two were currently sitting by the kitchen table, having an awkward conversation about nothing.

"Hey stranger," Alexis said, quickly walking over and breaking up their party.

"Hey, you look gorgeous," Nolan said, leaning in and kissing her briefly on the lips.

"Really, again? I thought you guys broke up like two months ago," a new voice groaned. Alexis spun around to find Mason, her adoptive younger brother rummaging through the refrigerator and looking for lunch.

"Well we're back together again," she snapped, her face turning a bright cherry pink.

"Didn't he start dating Karter though?" Mason asked incredulously. Of course, that only made her blush even more.

"You're too young to understand, just go eat your sandwich in the corner or something," Alexis hissed before turning back to her boyfriend. "Sorry, come on, let's just go meet up with everybody now."

"Oh yeah, fourteen and I'm too young to know that my sister's a sucker and her boyfriend is a whore," they heard Mason muttering as the Alexis hurried Nolan out the door. She hated when he did that. Today was going to be her last day seeing Nolan for at least a month. The least Mason could do was tolerate their relationship.

"So, are you excited?" Nolan asked as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pretending like the entire scene with Alexis's family was never happened.

"Well that depends. Are you excited to be dating District Two's next victor?" she shot back.

He laughed and leaned in a little closer to her. "Ecstatic," he replied as he brushed his lips against her cheek. Alexis felt her heart flutter lightly in her chest. It had been a month since Nolan and her had last been together as a couple. She had missed him immensely.

They walked down the road towards the training center holding hands. The plan was to meet Leah, Cleo, Karter, and Alison there before going to the reaping. Alexis wasn't nuts about that idea. Leah, Cleo, and Karter were all currently Nolan's ex-girlfriends, and she didn't really want to spend these last couple of hours with them. Of course, they were her friends too, but still. He had been the one who had suggested the idea, actually, which had bugged her slightly. If she had it her way, it'd be just the two of them, eating a picnic lunch somewhere outside. She didn't want to make Nolan upset though. She was finally with him again, and she wouldn't ruin it an hour before she left.

"Looks like it's going to rain later," Nolan mumbled as they approached the big grey Training Academy building.

"I hope not," Alexis said, glancing towards the sky.

"Why? Is that shirt see through when its wet? The Capitol might like that you know," Nolan joked, poking her playfully in the stomach.

"No," Alexis laughed, pushing him lightly. "I just spent a long time on my hair earlier."

"Mmmhmm, if you say so," Nolan said. Up ahead, a slender silhouette stood with its back towards them. Alexis recognized her friend immediately of course, and she wasn't sure whether to be happy or sad to see her. On one hand, Allison was her one friend who wasn't trying to steal Nolan away from her, and on the other, her alone time with her boyfriend was apparently coming to an end.

"Hey Aly," Nolan called out, waving his free hand in the air towards the girl. Her red curls bounced as she turned around, and her blue eyes lit up upon seeing them.

"Hey," she grinned, trotting over to them in her fancy heels and embracing the couple. "Oh my gosh, congratulations Alexis. I looked for you yesterday after I heard the good news, but I couldn't find you. You're going to be in the Games, that's so exciting!"

"Thanks," Alexis said, smiling. Perhaps hanging out with her friends wasn't so bad. If they all acted like this- giving her attention as opposed to Nolan- than she might actually enjoy the next hour or so.

The three of them chatted in front of the building for a while, discussing the last couple Hunger Games. Finnick Odair's win had been horrible for District One and Two. District Four had been in the midst dry spell, going an entire eleven years without a victor. Meanwhile District One had four victors since Dylan Hays won the Fifty Third games, and District Two had two victors. To make matters worse, in the Sixty Fourth games Four had put forth possibly the two worst careers in district history- Foster Finner and Kyla Brooke. One had been reaped and then the other couldn't seem to handle the pressure of the Games. In short, some words were exchanged very publicly about Four's short comings, and some bets were made about the upcoming Sixty Fifth Games. Then young Finnick Odair showed up out of nowhere and won with such ease that he made both District One and Two look like laughing stocks. Truly Alexis felt honored that they thought she was up to the job of setting the records straight and redeeming some of Two's pride. All she had to do was win this year's Games and any drama surrounding last year would be ancient history.

Just as they were starting to make guesses about they type of arena that would be rearing its head this upcoming year, a giggling laugh filled their ears. "I doubt it," the giggle hiccupped to her companion. Over Alison's shoulder, Alexis saw Karter, Cleo, and Leah heading their way. Her stomach sank slightly as Karter's eyes flickered towards her boyfriend. So it appeared that they weren't going to be even remotely like Alison. Things were the same as they always were.

"Hey ladies," Nolan sang, wiggling his eyebrows jokingly, and leaving Alexis's side to go greet them. He squeezed himself between Karter and Leah, slinging his arms around their shoulders. Alexis couldn't help but notice Leah's less than modest outfit. She didn't know her friend's parents allowed her to go out in public with that much cleavage showing

"Oh, Alexis, I hope you don't mind but it would appear as if your boyfriend is hitting on us," Leah laughed lightly, giving Nolan a light push. Alexis gritted her teeth. In truth, she minded terribly, but she wasn't going to be that girl again. Last time she and Nolan broke up it was because he had accused her of being jealous and clingy. Of course, he was only having some fun and making some jokes with his ex-girlfriends, nothing harmful, or so he said.

"Aw, come here Lex," Nolan said, grabbing her arm and puling her close. Alexis shot a triumphant look over her shoulder at Leah, who's spot she was replacing. Obviously the other girl was disappointed that Nolan had chosen Alexis over her.

"Come on, we can start heading to the reaping now," Nolan announced, lacing his fingers through hers.

So the six of them went. Nolan had was holding hands with Alexis, and had his arm around Karter, while Alison tried to ignore the jealous stares Cleo and Leah were shooting at the two girls. Obviously, they were nothing short of one big happy family.

* * *

Vladimir "Vlad" Pekelo, 18, District 1

* * *

The rain started to fall when Vlad stepped into the check in line with his sisters. It wasn't quite pouring, just a light dusting drizzle that spotted their skirts and dresses. The stage in the middle of the town square had a tent over it, keeping the past victors, mayor, and escort dry. Vlad sighed as he looked at the black sky. It couldn't look more depressing on his big day.

"At least you can't tell that you just showered this way," Sola said, quietly.

"Or you can think of it as a terrible omen of your horribly bloody demise. That works too," Spring offered. Vlad rolled his eyes, shooting her an annoyed look. Clearly she was still peeved about the mud thing.

"Have you seen Adair?" he asked, pretending like he didn't hear either of the comments.

"No, sorry," Sola responded.

Vlad frowned, his eyes scanning the crowd as he looked for his friend. When they reached the table, he smiled as he saw his mother checking other kids in. "Hey mom, have you seen Adair yet?" he asked.

"No, I don't think he's checked in yet," she replied through her helmet. "Good luck at the reaping though sweetheart, I'm sure they'll all love you."

"Thanks," Vlad replied quickly. He didn't even bother to say goodbye to his sisters, knowing that they would be coming to see off later. He wasn't so sure about Adair though. That was why it was paramount that he found him before he walked up onto that stage.

Walking over to the eighteen year old section, Vlad joined a group of rowdy guys who were in peacekeeper training at the Academy. He wasn't exactly best friends with any of them, as they didn't share classes; however, most of the other students who were training to be careers were younger than him, and therefore not in his section. Usually the Academy didn't like to take on too many kids that were the same age. It meant doing a lot of training for kids who would never make it into the Games. He wish he could find Adair though.

The group of guys welcomed him, patting him on the back and grinning. He tried not to look too distracted as he watched the check in station, searching for Adair. Before long though, the mayor was talking, and the stream of kids had stopped completely. There was still no sign of his best friend. When Albina Schetz walked over to the microphone, he forced himself to start paying attention. If he couldn't miss the reaping because he was so busy worrying over Adair. That would be a disaster.

"Hello, hello, it's that time of the year again," Albina smiled sweetly at them. "Now who thinks that we're going to pick the next Victor this year?" Cheers thundered through the air, making the sky look even more stormy. "Well then let's start with the girls." She walked over to the bowl, dangling her hand over the rim before plucking a piece of paper out. "Brynne Owens!"

Vlad tapped his foot impatiently as some nondescript girl ran up to the stage. Just a couple of moments later, Albina asked for a volunteer, and Alexis Hayden ran forth from the crowd. Her long blonde hair bouncing as she went. Vlad nodded as he watched her go. He had heard they picked her to be his District partner, and he approved. She would be a good ally in the arena.

"Onto the boys... Titan Jacobs... Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer," Vlad boomed, making sure he was heard. All thoughts of Adair had been momentarily wiped from his mind. This was his moment. Every step up that stage was another step towards the crown that he so desperately wanted.

"Oh good, two strapping young tributes this year," Albina beamed. "Your name young man?"

"Vladimir Pekelo," Vlad announced proudly.

"Well then, ladies and gentleman, your tributes for the Sixty Sixth Hunger Games- Alexis and Vladimir!"

* * *

Alexis Hayden, 16, District Two

* * *

The kiss was passionate and prolonged, taking up most of their time together in the Justice Building. In a way, it was the best the two had ever shared, and at the same time it was the worst. Alexis couldn't help but fear that upon her homecoming, she'd return to find Nolan wrapped around Karter or Cleo, kissing them in much the same way. She had seen it happen enough times already to know that anything was possible.

"I'll see you in a month, tribute girl," Nolan grinned, pressing his forehead against hers.

"See you in a month," Alexis replied faintly. Then he was gone. The room filled with a familiar emptiness in his absence. It was finally starting. The Games which had consumed every waking moment of her life up until this day were less than a week away. She had to win. She needed to if she wanted to be Nolan's one and only without any worries of him disappearing off with one of her supposed friends. But more than just her boyfriend. She needed to win for her family, for herself. It was what she had been training for.

The door suddenly opened, and her parents and siblings poured in. "Oh honey," her mother beamed. "We're so proud of you." Immediately two constricting arms squeezed her into a huge bear hug.

"Um, thanks mom," Alexis squeaked as she patted the woman on the back. Her father was smiling kindly as he watched his wife and daughter with his hands in his pockets, soaking up the scene. Alana, of course, was just standing there shyly, not wanting to interrupt Alexis's moment. Then there was Mason, who was currently pointing to his mouth and mouthing 'your lip stick is smeared' at her like the little devil he was. Blushing, Alexis wiped her mouth on the back of her hand discretely, hoping that her parents wouldn't notice the tell-tale sign of her most recent make-out session.

"You're going to do just great," her mom said, taking a good look at her daughter's face. "Mason brought something for you."

"Really?" Alexis said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

Her brother smirked. "Don't look so surprised," he said sticking his hand out towards her, a twisted crimson colored feather in between his fingers. She took it, identifying it as coming from one of the cardinals Mason and her used to scare in their back yard. "Just don't lose it 'cause I want it back for my Games in a few years."

"Yeah whatever," Alexis shot back, smiling.

"We should go now, don't want to keep the Capitol waiting. Have fun sweetheart," her mother said.

"Good luck," three other voices chorused.

"Alright bye," Alexis said, hugging each one of them as they went.

The minute they were out the door she walked over to the trash can and threw out the feather. Mason would always be able to go get another one. She planned on bringing her bracelet into the Games as her token. It belonged to her deceased older brother, Jason. He had once trained for the Games, just like her, except, her parents were forced to pull him out of training as he got older. They said he wasn't mature enough, but in truth, he had some sort of mental disorder they refused to diagnose. He died a few years ago after committing suicide. Alexis didn't like talking about it, so she never consulted her parents as far as picking a token went. Twiddling the bracelet between her fingers, though, she knew he was the one she wanted to take with her into the arena. After all, he had always been a much more comforting presence than Mason.

* * *

Vladimir "Vlad" Pekelo, 18, District Two

* * *

Vlad tapped his foot impatiently. His parents had just left a few minutes ago, and his siblings had come even before them. There was only one more person he was hoping to see today, and he hadn't showed up yet. He was terrified that Adair wouldn't show up at all. Sure, they could always make amends after he came back, but something felt wrong about leaving for the Games with loose ends back at home. He had to go with a clear mind.

"We got another one for you, Vlad," the peacekeeper, Grant, smiled from the doorway. He stepped aside revealing a stocky guy, about a head shorter than Vlad, with shoulder length black hair that he had tied back into a pony tail.

"I thought you weren't going to show," Vlad grinned, tapping his fist against his friend's.

"Nah, I wouldn't do that to you," Adair shook his head. "I just couldn't go to the reapings. I was worried I would shove you out of the way and volunteer myself."

Vlad laughed, slapping his friend's shoulder. It felt good to know that nothing had changed between them. The last time they had spoken was right after Vlad learned he had been chosen to volunteer, and of course, that Adair hadn't. After training for ten years side by side, the two had always been competitive with each other. His friend hadn't been happy to learn that all his hard work had been for nothing. To be fair, they knew that only one of them could go to the Games. He supposed that neither of them really considered the possibility that it could have been the other.

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal, my mom's going to have to come and arrest you now," Vlad joked.

"Hah, yeah right, like she'd ever even consider it. You know I'm her favorite," Adair replied, shaking his head. Vlad rolled his eyes. "No seriously though, good luck, and remember the motto."

"Keep calm, think straight, win," the two said in unison.

"I expect a cut of your winnings when you come back," Adair said, looking serious.

"In your dreams," Vlad replied, holding out his hand. Adair took it and the two shook like proper gentleman.

"Well Pekelo, it was nice knowing ya," Adair said.

"I'll be seeing you in a month Caledon," Vlad smiled.

"You better." With the final good byes having been said, Adair stood up and walked out the door, leaving Vlad alone in the room, only a train ride away from fame and glory.

* * *

**A/N- So I see that you all are big fans of the District One tributes huh. Haha, that's okay, I'm sure some opinions will be changing as when we get into the Capitol and Games chapters. If I remember correctly, Chateaux had a lot (and I mean a lot) of haters in the beginning of my last story, and look where that went. Hopefully some of you like Vlad and Alexis though. They're a bit different than Kegan and Chateaux. That's sort of why I like them though. Its sort of bizarre to be writing new POV's by the by. I'm so used to the last twenty-four tributes that typing these new chapters is a bit of an odd experience. I'm enjoying myself though. Hopefully I'll have D3 up this week too; however, I'll be away from computers this weekend, so if its not up by Friday then don't expect anything from me until next Tuesday. **

**Until next time.**


	4. District Three Reaping

Auden Eneis, 15, District Three

* * *

Auden swallowed nervously as her friend scrutinized her face. Ellysia had been staring for at least two entire minutes now, and the silence was beginning to become tense. What was it that she was looking for? Auden had followed all of her instructions. She was wearing the blue dress with the dark brown eye shadow that apparently made her look older. She didn't touch her wavy black hair, and she made sure to run all of her jewelry choices by Elyssia before she put anything on. She knew for a fact that she hadn't forgotten anything.

"Um, do I look okay? Did I do something wrong?" Auden asked quietly. Ellysia suddenly snapped out of her daze, looking at Auden as if she just realized that she wasn't looking at a mannequin.

"Oh, I'm sorry, yeah, you look fine. I was just checking your make-up to make sure you blended everything right. You did a good job though, don't worry," Ellysia reassured her.

"Who are we meeting again?" Auden inquired, as her friend began to fiddle through her bag.

"Oh, just a bunch of people over by the school," Ellysia replied vaguely. "Remember what I told you though. If they bring up school, don't say anything negative, m'kay? Most people don't think being a super genius is a bad thing."

"Hopefully we won't talk about school at all," Auden said quickly, feeling a light blush rise in her cheeks as she remembered the last social outing she went to. Ellysia had left her alone with a boy named Gage. She had been so nervous, and then he asked her how school was. Of course, she was honest and made a remarkably sarcastic remark about how fantastically fun it was. Well apparently, he liked mathematics. When he said so, she commented on how boring it was, as it was all so easy. Ellysia said she sounded a bit arrogant, but she wasn't trying to be. She was simply telling the truth, it was boring and she wanted nothing to do with it anymore.

"Alright, come on then," Ellysia said, pulling on her hand. The two of them walked out into the vast District Three city, walking through the smooth marble streets. There was a lot of people out and about that day, as most of the businesses had closed for reaping day. A dull nervous buzz seemed to crackle in the air like a fuse-watt engine in a humidified room. It wasn't so much that people were dreading the upcoming reaping, just that they were sort of ambiguously worried about it.

That was generally how people were in District Three. The odds were so low of getting reaped that it simply wasn't logical to worry about it too much, especially since the population of their lone city was modestly large. Most likely Auden wouldn't even know the two tributes who got reaped this year.

The school that the two girls were headed to was in the heart of the city, just a block away from the town square. Auden wasn't actually a student there. She used to be of course, but she graduated the twelfth grade when she was ten. Her parents had gotten her a tutor after that. Still she liked coming back to her old school on days like this with Ellysia in hopes of acquiring some new friends.

After ten minutes, they could see the grand structure protruding from around the corner. The school was possibly the most advanced building in the entire city. The outside walls and roof were lined with solar panels, and it was completely self sufficient. On the inside, old students had installed a self cleaning system, universal audio visual screens that could be accessed anywhere, a robotic lunch lady, and more. It was quite impressive really. Auden herself had re-circuited the HVAC micropad back when she was a student; however, that wasn't really an achievement she was particularly proud of.

"Oh look, there they are," Ellysia pointed as they got closer. Six kids were sitting on the front steps to the school, all dressed in their reaping day best. Three boys, three girls, Auden counted. She recognized two of them, Huxley Bowden and Volt Powers as kids she had met before. Luckily though, she didn't think they would have remembered her. She didn't recall doing anything that Ellysia might consider "socially unacceptable" around them.

"Hey," Ellysia waved, calling out to them. The six kids all looked up, and though the majority didn't seem to recognize either Auden or her friend, a smile broke out across one of the girl's faces.

"Ellysia, I thought you said you couldn't make it," the girl squealed, running up towards them and giving each of them a friendly hug. Auden watched the way Ellysia warmly accepted the gesture, and copied her, trying not to be awkward about anything. "You must be Auden," the girl said.

"Um, yes, that's my name," Auden replied.

"I'm Gadget," the girl said, frolicking back over to the other teenagers. "Hey guys, this is Ellysia and Auden from Newtonsville. I told you they might be showing up remember. Auden, Ellysia, this is Huxley, Volt, Xeno, Pixle, and Gamma."

"Hey, we met before," Volt grinned at Ellysia. "Weren't you guys at Rob's party a couple months ago?"

"Yup that was us," Ellysia nodded, sitting down on the step beside Vlad.

"That's cool, Rob's a blast. He should throw us parties more often," Vlad laughed.

"If you like his parties why don't you throw your own?" Auden remarked curiously. Suddenly everyone was staring at her, and the corners of Ellysia's mouth were taught again. Oh, she must have said something wrong. Why'd she even bother opening her mouth?

"Oh, Auden, you're so cute when you joke," Ellysia laughed, her voice a few octaves too high.

"Why don't we start going to the reaping," Gadget suggested, sensing a change in subject was needed. "We'll avoid some of the crowds if we go now."

"Sounds good to me," Pixle nodded. With that the eight of them took off. And as they chatted, Auden slowly glided to the back of the group, where she could listen without speaking. That way, maybe she wouldn't mess up anymore today.

* * *

Avell Watts, 12, District 3

* * *

The boy sat on the bench, swinging his legs back and forth as he watched the passer-bys. The sun was high in the sky, and the reaping was fast approaching. District One had probably already started their ceremony due to time zone differences and such. As it was, the children of District Three were just beginning to spill out of their houses and flounder towards the town square in their pristine fancy clothing. Avell himself was wearing a new suit, as he didn't plan on returning to his house that day to change again. The clothing made him look even younger than he normally did, as the square shoulders of his jacket illuminated his fragile frame.

Carefully he smoothed back his brown curly locks as a tall muscular older boy walked passed. If that kid got reaped, District Three might have another winner this year, Avell thought to himself. He was physically fit, and most likely relatively clever; although, the boy had a certain air to him that made Avell believe he could be slightly cocky. District Three generally didn't do well with cocky tributes. Mostly because the arrogance came from their intelligence, not physical capability.

Of course, if he was being very realistic, another career would probably win this year. An outer district tribute hadn't won in ages. Not that Avell was surprised by that. Most of the amateurs who got reaped for the Games had no idea what they were doing. They didn't go in with a proper strategy, and if they did have some sort of skill, they never used it right. Untrained tributes just didn't understand the essential keys to taking down their enemies.

Avell was different of course. If he got reaped, he would have an elaborately thought out plan that would ensure his victory.

First, he would have to find some way to split up the careers. Whenever they stuck together until the end, they had a winner, as shown by the last two years in the Hunger Games. The easiest way to do that would be to destroy their food supply. Careers didn't know how to deal with hunger, and when they didn't have anything to eat, they got irritable.

After the careers had split, Avell would try to knock them each off individually in their sleep. He knew better than to get into an fair fight with one of those trained killing machines, but at the same time he would need them gone. As for the other tributes, well, they didn't worry him too much. Most of them were civil enough that a clever speaker could wrap the up into a conversation before they tried to kill you. And a speaking tribute of course, isn't a prepared one.

Sighing, Avell stood dreamily to his feet, just thinking about all of the possibilities. One day, he would put all of his planning into action. Not today, of course. He was too young. Only two twelve year olds had won in the history of the Games, and both of them were in some exceptionally weird arenas, with an abnormally weak group of tributes. Maybe in a couple of years though, he could volunteer. The capitol would love that- a volunteer from a non-career district that actually showed some interest in the Games. They'd shower him with sponsor gifts, and maybe he'd even be able to grab the title of victor as easily as Finnick Odair had last year.

Just thinking about it made his blood start pumping. Lord, he wished he was older.

Walking towards the square, Avell made his way towards the check in station. In an instant he was absorbed in the entire process. This would be his first year where he would be able to feel the check in needle stick his finger. It wasn't much, but it was the closest connection he had to the Games. He would savor it.

As he made his way to his spot with the rest of the twelve-year olds, his mind began to drift forwards, back to the upcoming Games. Looking around he began to analyze each kid's chances of winning, should they get reaped. Most of the children around him didn't stand a chance, as they were all young like him, but if he strained his head towards the older kids, he could see some of them doing well.

He couldn't wait to find out what this year's arena was though. They had a returning Head Gamemaker named Minerva Callaghan running things in the Capitol. She was simply sensational last year, creating a swamp arena that moved while the tributes were asleep. This year, she had promised to switch things up, delivering an arena that was completely original, something no citizen had ever seen before. Avell had been reading up on the guess work in some of the Capitol magazines. Personally, his favorite theory was an arena in the sky. That would most certainly be grand.

Before long the mayor had taken center stage and began to give his annual speech. It was a whole new experience listening to the man talk on this side of the rope. Avell held his head high, patriotism radiating off of him.

"And may I introduce to you, out escort, Carlton Odysseus," the mayor said, sarcastically being dramatic. Everyone was horribly silent as the lanky escort mozied up to the microphone. Avell had half a mind to break into applause, as he rather liked their escort; however, he restrained himself. He didn't like it when people gave him odd stares about his opinions on the Games.

"Thank you so much for your gracious applause," Carlton rolled his eyes as he bowed in front of his audience. "I suppose I'll make things quick then. Let's start with the ladies this year... Do I have an Auden Eneis out there? Hmmm? Possibly in the eighteen year old section?"

After a few moments, the camera twisted onto the face of a fifteen year old girl with pale skin and dark hair. She wasn't crying, but her face was twisted into a painfully tense expression, like she was thinking so hard that it hurt. Avell supposed she might do well in the Games. She wasn't that old, but she wasn't too young either. If she was smart, then District Three might get lucky with a female winner this year. She'd have to be really really smart though.

"Ah there you are Auden," Carlton said blandly as his eyes judged the girl. He looked happier than he had the past two years when he had picked a thirteen and a twelve-year-old consecutively; however, he was far from pleased. As the girl made her way shakily to the stage, the escort moved over to the boy's bowl, reaching his hand in and fishing around for a few seconds. Avell leaned forwards, feeling the tension rising in the air. Crossing his fingers, he prayed for an eighteen year old. It would just be so cool if District Three had another victor.

"Avell Watts!"

The boy's jaw dropped in disbelief. Did that really just happen? Was he just reaped? For a second, a twinge of doubt registered in the back of his mind. He was only twelve years old. He needed more time. The emotion passed as quickly as it came though, leaving behind a wealth of excitement and joy. With a huge grin across his face, Avell ran towards the steps, jumping up them two at a time.

"Oh, well at least you're enthusiastic," Carlton sighed in disappointment. "District Three, your tributes."

Avell turned towards the girl, his District partner, and held out his hand gleefully. His eyes scoured her face, analyzing it in more depth now that he knew they'd be sharing the pre-game experience together. Gosh, he couldn't wait to really get to know her now. Their next week together would be the best time of his life.

* * *

Auden Eneis, 15, District 3

* * *

Auden sat on the couch, feeling sorrow wallow in her gut. Ellysia had already come to say good bye to her, and the knowledge that none of her other peers would be showing up was possibly the worst feeling in the entire universe. All these years trying to make friends and she only had one to show for it. She had never felt more alone.

"Honey," a quivering voice cried as the door pushed open and her parents came spilling in. Her overbearing mother had tears in her eyes as she reached down to envelop her daughter in a warm hug, but Auden pulled away. "Auden?" the woman asked confused.

"Dear, she's probably a bit overwhelmed," her father said softly into his wife's ear.

"Oh, I'm so sorry this has happened to you Auden. Your future was so bright, you were going to have everything," her mother cried.

"It could still be bright," her father insisted. "You're the brightest girl in the entire District. You can come home. We have faith in you."

Auden stared at them in disgust. "Maybe I don't want to come home," her voice cracked as her face contorted. Her parents stared at her dumbfounded. "All you've ever done is put me through tutor after tutor. Well guess what, I know all the equations in the world now, but do you know how many friends I had come visit me so far. One. And nobody else is coming because they all think I'm too weird. Its a bit ironic huh that after all the money you've spent on my intellect, I'm going to die because the freaking Hunger Games are partially based on the ability to have normal social interaction."

It was funny. When she was reaped, she didn't cry. She had been struck by the unfairness of it all, sure, but the tears just weren't there. Now that she was in front of her parents, looking back on her pitiful short life, the tears were second nature.

"We just wanted what was best for you," her mom whispered hoarsely.

"Maybe if you had just listened when you had the chance, you would have realized that I never wanted what you thought was best for me," Auden shot back venomously.

It was her father who finally broke the barrier that Auden had created in between herself and her parents. Cautiously, he stepped forwards, stretching out his arms to his daughter, and gently pushing her face into his shoulder. Despite the livid anger that flowed from her towards the two adults, she collapsed into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

When it came down to it, they were still the only people that ever really loved her.

* * *

Avell Watts, 12, District 3

* * *

Avell tapped his foot excitedly as he paced back and forth in the justice building. So this was the room that they held the good bye's in. He had never been in it before, though of course he had always wanted to see it. On this very floor, dozens of tributes had wept with their families as they tried to come to terms with their doomed fate. And of course, this room had housed the couple of tributes that had managed to come back. Sparky, Wiress, Beetee, Gage, he wondered which ones had their goodbyes here and which had been in Auden's room.

Reaching into his pocket, Avell picked out a black bracelet that he usually kept on him. It used to belong to District Three's first winner, Gage Crux. Avell bought it off a street vendor last year. It would definitely be his token in the arena. Then maybe he could sell it so some other little kid could cherish one of his belongings.

"Avell?"

The boy perked up, looking to see who was visiting him. His parents entered with tentatively pale faces, each watching him carefully to see how he'd react. "Hi mom, dad. Isn't this great," he grinned at the pair.

"Avell," his mother said carefully as she took a seat beside him. Obviously she had taken some time to prepare this little speech he was about to receive. Frankly, he wasn't too happy about it. Judging from her tone, she wasn't as happy about the outcome of the reapings as he was, and he wasn't in the mood for somebody to start raining on his parade. "Listen, we wanted to talk to you about the Games."

"Is this about your opinion on them again? Because I thought we agreed to disagree last time," Avell snapped irritably.

"No, its not about that," his father said quickly, giving his wife a withered look. Avell quieted, ready to listen now. He liked his father much better than his mother. He tolerated his interest in the Hunger Games much more than his mother did. Of course, he thought it was just a phase for Avell, but the boy figured his father would realize his error there eventually.

"We want you to be so careful in that arena, okay?" his mother said suddenly, grabbing his shoulders to make sure she had his attention. "I know that you have watched all of the old Games, and I know you will have a brilliant strategy for yourself, but you have to be cautious okay? ITs going to be different in real life than it is on the television. Don't be surprised if it's not-" She caught herself before she finished her statement.

"It's not what I expected it to be?" Avell finished for her, smiling slightly. "I'm not stupid mom. I know that the Games are dangerous. No matter what every year twenty three kids are going to die. Permanently, as in they're never coming back. I know that not being careful would be bad okay? I'm going to be fine though. The other tributes won't know what hit them."

The woman bit her lip as she studied her son's face. Sighing, she nodded, deciding her message had sunk in sufficiently. "I never thought I'd be so happy that you spent so much time watching all of those horrible repeats," she said.

Avell just grinned. "See. I told you that you'd come around and see it my way eventually."

* * *

**A/N So there you have it. That's D3 for you. Next up is D4, with that blind career everybody's so excited about. Hope you liked these two tributes though. I expect that you will. D3 wasn't exactly a favorite last time (and neither of them lasted very long), so Avell and Auden don't have quite as much to live up to.**


	5. District Four Reaping

Airin la Arguila, 18, District Four

* * *

The tanned boy lied in the sand with his arms behind his head. He wore nothing but a pair of deep blue swim trunks, exposing his chiseled chest. A subtle smile was soft on his lips. His eyes were drooped open, as if he was staring at the sky, though his pupils were obviously too large to be normal. Indeed he saw nothing. His world was a constant impenetrable blackness. But he was not at the beach to focus on what he could not see.

Around him the world was full of life. His ears sang as the musical ocean waves crashed into his ears. The smell of salt stung his nose. His skin soaked in the warmth of the hot sand. His chest rose evenly as he let out a pleasant sigh. This was the life.

The sound of crunching foot steps broke into the constant hum of the water. Airin smiled. The foot steps were light and excited. It was a tread that he recognized. "Hey Hartley," he called, sitting up.

His friend let out a low whistle. "I'll never understand how you do that," he said amiably.

Airin tapped his temple lightly. "I have a sixth sense," he joked lightly. Standing up, he brushed the sand off of himself.

"You want to go on one last swim, for old times sake? Not that we won't have another chance of course, 'cause I'm definitely going to win," Hartley asked.

For a moment, Airin's heart fluttered anxiously, as Hartley reminded him yet again that he was supposed to be volunteering later that day. It made the blind boy feel mildly guilty. After all, he knew that the day's events would be unfolding very differently. "I'm game," he answered happily. Listening to his voice, no one would have guessed he was anything but content. The two trotted towards the ocean, and gradually the sand underneath Airin's feet grew wet and squishy. Then he could feel the cold water splashing underneath his feet. Once it was up to his knees, he dove forwards head first. His surroundings became muffled as the sound of his bubbling breath gurgled in the ocean.

He came to the surface laughing as he heard Hartley splash near by. Hartley was the one who taught him how to swim, many years ago. His parents had never allowed him to come into the water before then- something about it being dangerous. They didn't know that in fact, swimming would be his savior. He learned so many things in the water, like how much his ears could actually pick up even when challenged with the deafening roar of ten foot high waves. Of course, arguably it had been Hartley that had been the one to help him so much, not the ocean. Still, swimming would always be his first love.

"How's your mom coping with the bad news?" Hartley asked as the two floated out further, moving towards a familiar sand bar a little ways off the shore.

"Ah, she sort of expected it. Everybody's been saying for years that I don't have a place in the Games. Although, she's still a little upset about it. I can tell," Airin replied.

"Your sixth sense again?"

"Naturally."

Hartley sighed. When they had first told him that he was the one the Academy had picked to volunteer this year, his first reaction was guilt that he would be taking his best friend's spot. He was sweet that way. Of course, it was his last year in the reaping bowl too, so after a short chat with Airin to make sure there were no hard feelings, he had perked up immensely. It made Airin both happy and sad to see the other boy this way. He wished that he would be able to make it last.

"Ten years of training, and its all going to pay off today," Hartley said, gazing at the sky.

"Nah, it'll pay off if you win. I wouldn't call dying a horrible bloody death in front of the entire country a pay off, if you know what I mean," Airin corrected.

"You have no faith," Hartley said, shoving his friend in the water. The spot on Airin's shoulder felt electric when Hartley's skin touched it, and he could feel his heart start to pump faster.

"That's what friends are for," Airin beamed. Hartley laughed. The musical sound surrounded Airin, making him smile. He loved the sound of Hartley's laugh. He loved everything about Hartley actually. That was why he would be volunteering later that evening during the reaping. He would not allow this day to be the last time he heard his best friend's voice. He knew that the Academy would be furious. He knew that Hartley might never forgive him. But still, he refused to live a life without his training buddy.

It was just as simple as that.

* * *

Rocio Grievers, 17, District 4

* * *

"Hi, you called me" Rocio said, feeling uneasy. Carefully she shut the door behind her and walked into the Academy office.

Sitting behind a grand oak desk was an intimidating man with thinning blonde hair and massive muscles. His creased face was set in its usual cold expression, making the room feel unsettling. His eyes bore into her like cold heartless black stones. His name was Seymour Yew, the infamous Head Trainer at the Academy. Clearly, this chat he had arranged wasn't going to be friendly.

"You've been avoiding me. I asked for you last week," Seymour said calmly.

"I've been busy," Rocio answered, her joints tensing.

"With what? Training? We both know you are the worst slacker at the Academy," he shot back, his eyes narrowing.

Rocio felt her face tinge slightly red. She wasn't exactly happy that everyone thought her to be lazy. It wasn't that she wasn't motivated or anything. She simply didn't want to be a career. She figured that if she didn't train, she wouldn't be strong. They wouldn't send her into that abysmal arena then, or at least, so she hoped. She had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't going to like the news Seymour was preparing to give her.

"I had stuff," Rocio said, making it clear she didn't plan on really answering the question.

"At least you're here before the reaping," Seymour muttered unhappily. "We want you to volunteer this year."

"No," Rocio answered automatically.

"Most people would kill for this opportunity," Seymour growled, clearly annoyed. He wasn't mad though, not yet. That worried her. Everyone knew that if Seymour wasn't mad, he thought that he still had control.

"Yeah, well not me. What about Coral anyways? She was boasting all about how she was going to be chosen to volunteer this year. Did you guys just decide to skip her, she's seventeen too, and a perfectly good fighter, if I do say so myself. What's wrong with her?" Rocio cried, throwing her arms out, as if the choice should have been obvious.

"She is your back up. Some of the other trainers want to send her, but I disagreed. I told them that you were the best," Seymour said.

"I stink," Rocio clenched her jaw.

"You are pathetically useless at gymnastics, I agree. That's what the other trainers told me when I suggested your name. They've never seen you with a spear though," Seymour replied.

"Well I don't fight with spears anymore," Rocio said as she crossed her arms.

Seymour's eyes flashed with annoyance. "You waste your abilities. You were the best talent we've seen in ages. I've never seen a fighter with as much finesse as you had. District Four needs another winner this year. Hartley Beaches is okay. He has a chance, maybe, if a million things go his way. Coral does too, but again, she would need some luck. They definitely aren't Finnick Odair. But you. You won't need luck. Listen to me carefully girl, later today, you will volunteer, and go make your District proud," he said. His voice had a certain dangerous edge to it that made Rocio's skin crawl.

"I said no," Rocio said, this time with more force. She spun on her heels, briskly walking towards the door. Suddenly, a strong grip twisted around her arm. She glared back, finding that Seymour was stopping her. How he moved from his chair so fast, she had no idea.

"Do you remember Paylor Finner?" he seethed, irate fury flaring in his eyes.

Rocio felt the color drain from her face. She knew who Paylor was all too well. Back when he was in training, he was quite the prodigy. The District had high expectations for him. On reaping day, his brother got picked. It was like the stars had aligned. Everything was set up perfectly for him to volunteer and come back as not only a strong handsome career from Four, but as his brother's valiant savior. He chickened out though, his fear of death getting the better of him. The minute his brother froze to death on national television, Seymour had made quick work, ruining Paylor's life. Nobody would hire him for work, vendors refused to sell him essentials. His old friends were banned from talking to him. Over the course of twenty-four hours, he had become the ultimate pariah. Seymour had gone for his parents too, trying to punish them too for Paylor's short comings. Fortunately, Paylor's aunt was a victor. She put her foot down when Seymour tried to mess with her sister.

"Your parents aren't related to any victors, if I remember correctly," Seymour breathed.

"I won't fight with a spear," Rocio said. It was her last attempt at maintaining some form of dignity. Both of them knew that she was defeated though.

Seymour laughed, a deep ugly gritty sound grinding out of his mouth. "You say that now. Let's see what you do when your life is on the line."

Rocio grit her teeth and slipped out the door, the sounds of the Head Trainer's cackle ringing in her ears. He truly didn't know her if he thought she would ever be that person again. If he wanted her to die, she would die on her own terms.

* * *

Airin la Aguilla, 18, District 4

* * *

Airin walked through the crowd with Hartley by his side. He kept his left hand on his friend's shoulder, using Hartley as a guide to move through the crowd. Sometimes he would carry a walking pole around so that he could feel his way around. It was easier though when somebody was with him. He hated using that dumb pole as a crutch. It made him look weak, and after years of having his fellow careers look down on him for his disability, he liked to take every opportunity to display his independence. Just because he was blind didn't mean he was dependent. It didn't mean he couldn't fight.

"Where are we standing?" Airin asked as Hartley pulled to a stop.

"Just a couple of feet in front of the stage. The stairs are just over to the right. I wanted to make sure I was close," Hartley replied excitedly. Airin nodded, conveniently noting that he was closer to the stage than Hartley was. His friend truly had no idea of his plans to steal the tribute spot from him. Of course, there was no reason to be suspicious. Airin had been very careful not to show any signs.

"You see anybody we know?" Airin asked, rocking back and forth onto his toes. He wanted to talk about something other than the reaping.

"Um, well, Finnick is on the stage looking suspiciously happy," Hartley offered, as he craned his head, acting as the blind boy's eyes.

Airin snorted. "I bet he is," he grinned. "He thinks he's a big fish now that he's won the Games."

"Well, he sort of is," Hartley shrugged. "He's got more power around here now the mayor does."

"Feels like a big fish, smells like a big fish, looks like a big fish, he must be a big fish," Airin joked.

"And how would you know what he looks like?" Hartley asked, smiling.

"Well, I've been told that he has red hair and that he's devilishly handsome," Airin replied wiggling his eyebrows exaggerated. Hartley laughed loudly, pounding Airin on the back. If only he really knew.

"Alright everybody settle down settle down. I know you're all very excited, but we must go through with the formalities," the mayor's voice projected through the crowd. Hartley's laughter cut off abruptly; although, he was having trouble quieting himself completely. He had to be serious though. He would want to make a good impression on the Capitol, not that it was going to matter.

The mayor quickly launched into his long speech, going over the history of Panem and what not. It was rather boring, and Airin stopped listening almost immediately. He was glad that the girl tribute would be picked first. Otherwise, he might not realize that the escort was up there drawing names out of the glass bowl until it was too late.

Just as he predicted, he didn't even realize when the mayor and escort switched places. It was only when Iris Siren shouted out the name "Kelsey Briggs," that he suddenly snapped to attention. He didn't know who the girl tribute was supposed to be this year. For whatever reason, the Head Trainer, Seymour Yew hadn't made the decision yet at the end of the day yesterday.

"I volunteer," a voice said dully somewhere off to his left. He frowned surprised. Rocio Grievers? Really? He'd fought her a few times before during training, and it was like she wanted to get beat up. She never tried. Seymour must have gone off his rocker picking her to volunteer this year.

Rocio walked to the stage, her expression cold and set, her chestnut colored ringlets bouncing indignantly as she went. To the rest of the world, she looked like she was trying to be intimidating. In reality, she was trying not to show her livid hatred for Seymour and all of the crazy bloodthirsty people at the Academy show. Her footsteps thumped heavily as she ascended her way up to Iris.

"Onto the boys," Iris sang as she nodded approvingly to Iris.

Airin felt his frame tense as his palms began to sweat. This was it. In five minutes, Hartley, the boy he loved, would hate him.

"Zale Vere!" Behind him, there was some scuffling from one of the younger sections as some kid made his way to the stage. "... Do I have any volunteers?"

Hartley raised his hand up eagerly, his eyes shining excitedly. "I-"

In one quick movement, Airin shot his elbow out, digging it into Hartley's ribcage. His friend crumpled beside him, caught completely off guard as he stared at Airin, his mouth wide open. The two words that would have signed his life away still sat there on the edge of his tongue.

"I volunteer," Airin bellowed. Before Hartley could even think about recovering, Airin darted towards the steps. Hartley had said earlier that they were just a little bit over to the right. Then he had heard Rocio's footsteps when she had walked onto the stage. It wasn't that hard to pick his way over to them. All on his own, without a walking stick or escort guiding him, he walked up onto the stage. Iris was saying something about how lovely it was when people volunteered, and he followed the sound of her voice to the place he was supposed to stand.

If his eyes weren't obviously out of commission, no one would guess that he was blind. "And your name young man?" Iris asked.

"Airin la Aguilla, don't forget it," Airin beamed, facing the crowd. As usual, the audience cheered, but even a normal set of ears could distinguish the difference between the reaction to Rocio and the one to him. His abrupt actions had shaken everyone, not just Hartley. They had all been ready for a skilled eighteen year old with a perfectly tuned physique. Well now they had the blind boy who had always been doubted at the Academy. Clearly, they were worried.

Well he would show them. For somebody who was completely and utterly blind, he could "see" so much better than the lot of them.

* * *

Rocio Grievers, 17, District 4

* * *

Rocio winced as her parents walked into the room. Her mother's face was filled with complete and utter anguish as she rushed forwards, embracing her daughter. Tears streamed down her face as she cried into Rocio's hair, clutching to the girl like letting go might kill her. Rocio's father, Adrien, stood back a little, watching the two with a reproachful look in his eye. A chiseled frown of deep disapproval was etched onto his face. Rocio's eyes immediately went to the long white scar that cut its way across his face. Almost immediately though, she looked away in shame.

"Why didn't you tell us?" her mother, Genevieve sobbed.

"I didn't know until this morning. I don't think a letter would have arrived in time," Rocio said dully. That only made the woman even more emotional. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't have much of a choice."

Adrian snorted. "This is what you wanted right? I thought this was your choice," he said, his voice almost venomous. Rocio couldn't force herself to even look at the him. The guilt that accompanied his face was too much.

Memories of that night floated back to her. He had been yelling at her. She had been furious. His words went one step too far, so she escalated things. The next thing she knew, he was bloody. The spear was in her hands. He was alive, if only just barely. A month later she moved to the academy, because the shame had been too much. It wasn't any better there either though. She didn't want to fight anymore. She had seen what she was capable of, and it terrified her. But it was too late. She was already thirteen. Leaving was no longer an option.

If she never went into the Games, perhaps her dad might have found it in himself to forgive her. That was what he really hated after all- the Games not her. It was too late for everything now. Volunteering was her final act of betrayal. In his eyes, she was no longer his daughter. She just knew it.

"I need you to win, okay honey, okay? You can do it. You said you were the best they had right? Oh, please come back," Genevieve was still weeping.

"I was the best," Rocio nodded softly. She didn't tell her mother that she had been slacking for five years now, hoping that she'd never get the chance to volunteer. That would only make things worse.

The peacekeeper knocked once on the door, signaling that they only had one minute left. Rocio forced herself to look up. She had to have one last look at her dad's face before she left. For a moment the two locked eyes. Adrian's expression was hard and careful. She didn't know what he was really feeling, but clearly whatever it was, he was hiding it.

"I'm going to make you guys proud okay?" she said, though she was speaking to Adrian and Adrian only.

The man didn't respond. He still was under the assumption that her operational definition of proud was in line with that of her old self. It wasn't though. She had made a change for the better.

The peacekeeper knocked again, her time with her parents was up. They exited quickly and quietly, leaving her alone again. The next time they saw her, laying in her very own wooden coffin, everything would be crystal clear.

* * *

Airin la Aguilla, 18, District 4

* * *

Airin's parents exited the room after a long serious talk. His mother was a trainer at the Academy, and she had mixed feelings over Airin's choice to mix things up. She had been honest with him though, and he appreciated that immensely. As of right now, Seymour was apparently furious, though there was nothing he could do. It wasn't in the official Hunger Games rule book that volunteers had to be picked out ahead of time. Technically, the entire District could duke it out to the podium. Whoever got there first would be the tribute. It was the Academies of Districts One, Two, and Four that had taken it upon themselves to create a system. Otherwise they'd create a bad image for themselves with twenty or so kids barbarically murdering each other just to get onto the stage.

That being said, he did break quite a few District rules. His actions were unprecedented. Quite simply, there was no punishment already outlined for him. His mother was probably going to lose her job, and villagers probably would be told not to buy the fish his father caught. A lot of their fates would depend on his performance in the Games. If he won, his little stunt would be completely forgotten and he'd be worshiped like a king. If Rocio won and he played some role in her victory, his parents would probably be let off the hook completely. If he killed one of the District One or Two tributes late in the Games, his mom might be fired, but his dad might get out unscathed. There was so many variables that could alter his fate. The ball was in his hands now. It was up to him whether he would drop it or not.

Sitting on the bench, he sighed. Of course, he wasn't thrilled that his parents were going to take the blame for this incident, but he had no regrets. Hartley would turn nineteen this upcoming August, and he'd be out of the reaping pool forever. He would get to live a long happy life, meet a lucky girl and have a family. Someday, he'd be thanking Airin for his sacrifice, he was sure of it.

The door creaked open, and Airin looked up in surprise. He wondered if one of his other friends from the Academy was coming to wish him good luck. That didn't make sense though, his mom had said not to expect any visitors because Seymour was going to consider any students that came to see him off a traitor. They'd never be picked to volunteer once they were on Seymour's bad side. Nobody would risk that for a three minute chat with a good friend. Airin knew he sure as hell wouldn't go to such lengths for them, no matter how much he enjoyed hanging out with them over the years.

Suddenly, two strong hands wrapped around his collar, and he could feel Hartley's seething breath against his face. He was shocked. Not once did he ever think Hartley would want to visit him after what he did.

"How could you?" Hartley cried out dangerously. "How could you take this from me?"

"Sorry dude, I had to," Airin said, holding his hands up.

"You know I thought you were actually happy for me. I thought after all I've done for you that it wasn't going to be that hard to accept that I was chosen over you. I guess not huh. Some friend you are," Hartley snapped.

"Yup, I can see why you'd think that," was all Airin could think to say. For the first time in his life, he seemed to be at a loss for words. He couldn't tell Hartley the truth, but somehow, lying seemed impossible.

"Is that all you have to say to me!? Really?" Hartley bellowed. There was a pained edge to the boy's voice. Airin wondered if his friend was crying.

"Well," Airin said, looking for the right word. For a split second, he considered letting it slip, saying those three words that might change everything. Instead he bit his lip. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Then I guess this is all I have to say to you too," Hartley spat. "I hope you die brutally."

Stomping footsteps exited the room, then the door slammed. Airin collapsed backwards onto the bench, sorrow filling his gut. He wondered if Hartley really meant those words. He probably did. Nothing would ever make him feel worse than the thought of Hartley hating him. Yet still, he felt no regret. This was better than the alternative.

"I love you Hartley," he whispered tiredly to himself. "I always have."

* * *

**A/N Taa daa. And here's District Four. Hope you like both these tributes, I sure do. Now you've met the whole career pack, and we are a ****third of the way through these terribly repetitive reaping chapters (hooray? I'm not sure whether I should be celebrating 'cause I'm done four or groaning the thought of eight more reapings sounds painful) Any who, on a side note, Finnick isn't going to be exactly the same guy you're used to reading about. This is just the year after he won, so he hasn't dealt with the whole prostitution ordeal yet, and he hasn't met Annie. I'm sort of looking forwards to writing the D4 train ride so I can explore that idea a bit more, and of course he's fifteen still, which makes him younger than both Rocio and Airin. I'm rambling now. **

**D5 will be coming to ya soon. Until next time. **


	6. District Five Reaping

Mae Themis, 14, District 5

* * *

On the stage, just to the right of the podium, a wiry man was nervously trying to pin a strand of dead confetti to the wood. His hands shook fiercely as Reyna Pulman, the district escort, watched over him. The stapler he was attempting to use had jammed, and clearly he was quite flustered with it. Reyna didn't look pleased at all that he couldn't even hang a piece of confetti. The reaping was everything to this woman. They had to be perfect.

Mae frowned, almost feeling sorry for the man. He was trying to hang the confetti all wrong. If he was smart, he wouldn't be using a stapler at all; surely a jar of clay glue would be much more efficient. Why staplers still existed at all was a mystery to her. Hopping of the chair she had been sitting on, the girl walked over to the man. Not everyone could be as logical as her, after all. It was her duty to lend a hand to those in need.

"You're doing that wrong," Mae said, pointing to the stapler. The man looked up at her, surprised. It wasn't often that the reaping staff found kids in town square early. "Staples are just going to damage the podium," Mae went on. "You should use clay glue. Its much less archaic and it will come off easier. Plus, the jars can't jam."

The man's face flushed with embarrassment as he glanced down at his stapler. Reyna Pulman on the other hand looked amused, possibly even charmed by Mae's interruption. She always did seem to like all of District Five's citizens, once you got past the fact that she picked two kids to be killed each year that is.

"I'm sorry, how old are you?" the man stuttered out looking annoyed. "Eight? Family members are supposed to stand behind that yellow tape over there."

Mae crossed her arms, frowning indignantly. She looked young for her age sure, but there was no need for this man to exaggerate things. He was just upset that she was smarter than him, most people were. "I'm fourteen actually," she snapped angrily. "And excuse me if I was trying to be helpful. You only look slightly challenged with your caveman tool there after all."

Reyna laughed as the man's already beet red face started turning purple. "Better watch out Arthur, it looks like you've met your match," Reyna said, patting the man on the back as she winked at Mae. "What's your name dear?"

"Mae Themis," the girl replied proudly. She did like it when people recognized her for her true worth.

"Well Ms. Mae, you know your not supposed to be here just yet. The reaping doesn't start for another two hours," Reyna smiled.

Mae rolled her eyes. "Of course I know that. My dad works in the justice building and is helping out the mayor. He dragged me here with him. See, he's just over there."

She pointed across the stage where the mayor was skimming through her five page speech. Mae was actually rather surprised that the woman still needed to review it. A tall intelligent man stood beside her, pointing at her script with his pen. His hair was a fair blonde, the same color as Mae's, and he seemed to be completely oblivious to the world around him. The only thing he was focused on was his work.

"Ah," Reyna nodded, understanding her finally. "Well just try not to get in anybody's way then dear. I'm sure everybody's very busy."

Mae frowned feeling very annoyed. With a click of her tongue, she stormed off the stage. They were all idiots, all of them. She was the smartest girl in the district, these stupid capitolites couldn't even dream of knowing what that kind of intelligence was like. But it was more than just the capitolites. It was her entire District. She was smarter than all of them. Just look at her father, dragging her to work with him because he didn't have anything better to do with her. At least he recognized her genius, he'd spent enough money on her tutors to have a decent idea of how smart she was. Still, he thought she wasn't worldly enough. Well, she was the most worldly person she knew.

Sighing, she made her way back towards the entrance to the square. She'd show them all one day when she got hired as the head of one of the power plants. Then they'd understand. For now though she'd have to just make do with the respect of her peers. The adults would see more clearly with time.

* * *

Petro Joule, 15, District 5

* * *

People all wore masks. The loving parent, happy spouse, bickering siblings, District citizen, capitolite, president, everyone- they all spent their lives putting on a face, a guise, of contentment, or even of discontentment. They floated around the world, spinning through their repetitive routines, never letting their acts falter even the slightest. Perhaps the only time anybody saw another's true self was when they were dead, hanging from the ceiling by a tediously thin rope.

That's how he found out who his mother was, on the same day when he learned that every single one of them were liars.

Of course, he was just as bad as the rest of them. He smiled and joked around, making them all believe that he was grotesquely okay. Perhaps that was why nobody could love him, because his mask was so much uglier than the rest of Panem's.

It was only when he was completely and utterly alone, away from their happy guises, as he was now, that his own mask slipped away. Then he would watch as the blood dripped from the knife, beading up on the porcelain sink before it started to run down to the drain, disappearing forever. Pressing his thumb to his wrist, he closed his eyes, letting the stinging throb overtake him. Now he looked the same both on the outside and the inside. His mask was gone, and now everything was bloody.

"Petro? Are you coming?" a deep voice called from the other room. The boy's heart skipped a beat as he turned on the faucet and thrusted his knife underneath it.

"Yeah, one second, I'm just washing my hands," Petro called back, rinsing the blood off of his wrist. He quickly pulled up his sleeve, hiding himself from the rest of the world. His father could never know. It would disappoint the man too much. Quickly, he wedged the knife in the gap in between the worn counter and the floor. Then he turned, took a deep breath, and walked out into the only other room in their dingy house- the bedroom and kitchen.

"You look nice," his father said absently as he tightened his tie in the mirror that hung on the far wall.

"Not as good as you do pops," Petro smiled, replacing his mask.

His father snorted. "You ready for the reaping?" he asked as he turned towards his only son.

"I guess so," Petro shrugged, a wave of sadness and nervousness washing over him. It was such a waste watching such good people getting reaped every year. Every kid who walked up onto that stage had a life, a future. They had friends and family that loved them. For it to all be erased in one flicker of an escort's tongue, it was unfathomable. "Hopefully we just don't know this year's kids."

"Hey, maybe we'll get a winner this year," his father nudged him. Petro thought back to the past couple years. The careers were on a winning streak, he highly doubted that anybody from the outer districts even had a chance at winning.

"Sure, maybe we'll get a new victor. Then our Capitol representative can be just as young and attractive as Districts One, Two, and Four," Petro smiled somewhat sarcastically. His father laughed again.

"That's my boy, always thinking of the important things in life," he bellowed.

"Yup that's me, I might as well be a capitolite," Petro laughed shakily, sneaking a guilty glance down at his hands, at the unseen scars. Up ahead, the town square was approaching fast under the dust clouds of the power plants. So Petro put on a new mask, that of the obedient District boy, and moved to stand in the check out line.

* * *

Mae Themis, 14, District 5

* * *

Mae watched the stage as the first District Five victor arrived. The square had slowly gotten busier as the day had progressed, and now it was relatively full. Mae had made her way over to the fourteen-year-old section quite a while ago; however, she hadn't seen anybody she knew yet so she was still standing alone. District Five was a moderately large district, so it wasn't unusual for her to go the entire reaping without seeing one familiar face.

Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder, looking to her left, she found that no one was there. Then to her right, a sudden fog of hot breath billowed against her neck. "'Sup know-it-all," a nasty voice growled. Immediately, Mae felt annoyed.

"I see you don't know how to get somebody's attention properly. Common courtesy would be to tap the shoulder nearest to you, or maybe to even call my name, but of course you're rude. I shouldn't be surprised," Mae chastised.

The thin blonde girl huffed. "I'm rude. Yeah, that's funny. I heard about what you did to Spark the other day. Don't pretend to be a saint," she said, eyeing Mae with a disgusted glint in her eye.

"I was just trying to help her. I thought she might appreciate it if she didn't fail the final project of the year that's all," Mae said through gritted teeth. The blonde girl standing in front of her, Ember, was possibly the most obnoxious person she had ever met. Not only was she always speaking down to Mae, despite her clear intellectual inferiority, but she was also dirt poor. She just couldn't understand what it was like to be a genius. Obviously she didn't handle her jealously very well.

"Is that what you thought you were doing? 'Cause I heard you called her stupid, threw away her design idea, and then left," Ember raised an eyebrow scrunching her nose.

Mae opened her mouth to protest, but one of the peacekeepers suddenly shushed the two of them, as the reaping was about to start. Mae prayed that Ember would be the one who got picked. It's what she deserved.

"Mae Themis," Reyna Pulman called.

Mae felt her limbs freeze as her eyes froze onto the stage. The crowd around her suddenly went silent. In her ears, the sound of her heart beat, precious yet fragile, thumped. She considered running for a moment, as the horrible reality began to crush her. Then two strong hands slipped around one of her arms, beginning to drag her up towards the stage. A flare of anger shot through her making her face flush slightly.

"Let go of me," she shrieked madly as she raked her nails across the peacekeepers exposed forearm. He let go after giving a rather high pitch yelp. At least seven other Capitol croonies stepped forwards, prepared to drag the girl up to the stage themselves. Mae had not attacked the first man because she intended on running though. With her head held high and her fists clenched tight, she stormed up to Reyna Pulman, hating everything.

The escort smiled at her, recognizing her face. "Good to see you Mae," she said cheerily. "Onto the boys."

* * *

Petro Joule, 15, District 5

* * *

Petro watched as a little blonde girl who looked no older than eleven emerged from the fourteen year old section. As expected, he didn't recognize her, but all the same a wave of sorrow filled him as he looked at her face. Indignant was probably a good word for her expression. She must have have some shadow of a life her in District Five, if she was that furious.

With a tense sigh, he returned his attention over to Reyna, waiting to find out who would be the male tribute for this year. If the next few seconds lasted an eternity, and he never found out whose life would be snuffed out in a week or so, he wouldn't mind. Of course, time didn't freeze, and since Reyna wasn't the most dramatic escort out there, she made quick work of the second glass reaping bowl.

"Petro Joule," she called out, looking around the square.

Petro felt the blood in his veins run cold. Immediately his eyes moved over to the roped off family section where his father was standing. The man was standing there gaping at the escort, completely stunned. Petro tried to make himself smile for the man. He had to put on a brave mask, to show his dad that he would be okay. It wouldn't come though. There wasn't even a minuscule shred of happiness left within him. It was like in the instant his name was called, his muscles had completely forgotten what a smile was. The entire concept of it had vanished. There was no more happiness and no more fake happiness. Because in the face of death, a silly expression can hide nothing.

His throat swelled, and the tears started to come out in choked sobs. Petro's entire body began to quake uncontrollably as two peacekeepers gently led him up onto the stage. He didn't resist at least. He didn't know how to.

Up before the entire District, he stood wallowing beside the girl, his District partner, Mae Themis. Looking out on the audience, he could see the pity in all of their eyes. Everyone pitied him. Scanning the crowd, he looked for the familiar faces of people he'd never see again. First he found young Flux, his next door neighbor, standing with the twelve year olds. Well, he thought, at least it wasn't him, he's the oldest of three and has been supporting half his family for years now. They needed him. Then he saw Rex Tyson, an acquaintance from school. It was a good thing it wasn't him either- he was dating a girl named Aura and everyone expected the pair to get married one day. And it was fortunate that Kelvin George didn't get picked either. He was due for a promotion at the factory. Oh, and Jet Druden too. His father just passed and his mother needed him.

In fact, it was good that none of them got picked. They all had lives that they loved, people that they cared for. They were all needed. Yes, better it be Petro, the boy who epitomized the idea of unwanted. This way, in five years, they could all forget about him and be happy.

* * *

**A/N Sorry for the long wait. I've been ridiculously busy and haven't had any time to write. But here's D5. You'll notice that I didn't write the good byes. That would probably be because I'm lazy. I did this last time too, except, I only lasted one reaping before I started skimping on the goodbye segments. Reapings can be repetitive, so while I'll probably attempt to maybe write the goodbyes for most of the tributes, if I feel like I don't have anything overly significant to add other than a tearful scene where one or two parents are telling their kid how much they love them, I'll probably be skipping it. Of course, if there is anything important that i need to convey in a good bye segment, I'll of course write it in there. (sort of like how I felt that Auden's goodbye was important to soundly establish her sort of aversion to her intellect or how Airin's goodbye was important because I needed to show Hartley's reaction to him stealing the spotlight and so on). But that's my judgement call. So yeah, if I don't write the goodbye scene for a character, just assume it was average. **

**Any who, until next time. **


	7. District Six Reaping

Crescent Lolium, 17, District 6

* * *

The shadows danced. With elegant curves they twisted up the wall growing bigger as she tilted her lamp. They moved with the grace of forgotten peace, holding more meaning than anything. Gingerly she reached out her hands, tracing the intangible line where light turned to dark, trying to feel the shadow's soul. Nothing had ever seemed more beautiful to her than the mirage of blackness. Shadows were, after all, a production of the human eye. They were not real the way an orange or an apple is real, but rather they were something commonly created by the human cornea's inability to read what was truly there. In other words, no super natural powers created shadows. No, humans did, and therefore, the morose figures held secrets that belonged to humans and humans alone.

"Do I look as gorgeous as you?" she asked, running her fingers through her bright ginger hair as she stared at the wall of her room, entranced. Smiling lightly she sighed, "Of course I don't."

Her eyes flickered to her bedroom window that overlooked a relatively wide alley. A few stray people meandered through the passage way with dull looks of pain and worry written in their faces. The young ones were especially gussied up, wearing their dresses and suits. It was their shadows, that walked hunched over, depressed, on the wall that was truly something to behold though.

"Today is reaping day. Are you going to be the one who is picked?" she asked the passing figures as they moved from the ally wall to the bright stone paved ground of the street. "I hope not; although, I guess it doesn't matter if you are. You'll just keep showing up outside my window whether your feet are connected to those feet or not."

It was just one more reason to like shadows- they could not die.

"I think that we'll have two more decent tributes this year, don't you think?" she asked her own figure as it stared back at her on the floor. "Yes, I agree. We've been doing quite well recently. Last year wasn't the best though, twelfth and ninth place aren't that impressive, but I guess that's to be expected, both of them were kind of young." She paused, as if listening to the silent figure respond. "That's true. He was even younger."

Suddenly, a thudding noise sounded from outside her room, and the door swung open, allowing a blinding stream of bright light to come in. Crescent yelped as she jumped to the corner of the room, shading her eyes from the intruder. She had not been sitting in complete darkness before, but the one lamp in her room had a shade on it to keep it dim. The light in the hallway, however, was as bright and unforgiving as the sun. She hated having her door open.

"What in the world is wrong with you?" a moody voice screeched from the doorway. "Its just a little light, I'm not holding a gun or anything."

Crescent glared at the figure, glancing back at her shadow, which was now located behind her, on the wall. "Sorry about her. She doesn't understand," she whispered hatefully.

"What?" the girl said. As her eyes adjusted, Crescent could make out her sister, Starr, better. Just like her, the girl had bright ginger hair that she was currently wearing in long curly ringlets. That must have been what that annoying humming noise had been earlier- the hair dryer. Usually Starr had straight hair, like everyone in the family, but of course, she valued her appearance more than anything else in the world. It made sense that she would waste countless hours changing it.

Starr rolled her cold brown eyes when Crescent didn't respond. "Whatever," she sighed. "Dad just had a patient roll into the hospital with only half of his right arm, and so he and mom can't come to the reaping. They put me in charge of dragging you out of your room so we get there on time. So move it, 'cause we have to go."

Crescent frowned, disappointed. She liked her parents very much. Her dad was a doctor, while her mother was a nurse, and she had spent countless hours helping them out in the local hospital throughout the years. She loved talking to her dad about all of the different bodily functions, and of course, the shadows on the walls of the hospital were always interesting. She had been looking forward to interrogating him about some of the recent patients during their walk to the town square, but it appeared that wouldn't be happening today. This emergency patient was probably just some idiot who got in the way of one of the hundreds of trains that ran throughout the district. It was amazing how many people seemed oblivious to the warning bells attached to the contraptions. Her father got a lot of train related patients.

"I'm coming," Crescent said, emerging from her corner.

Starr took one last look at her before letting out an exasperated huff. "I can't believe they're making me walk with you," she complained.

Crescent just rolled her eyes. As far as she was concerned, she wouldn't be walking to the town square with her little sister, she'd be traveling with the girl's shadow, as well as her own. That would be company enough.

* * *

Remendado "Dust" Lectart, 17, District 6

* * *

Of course this would happen to him. On today, of all days, they'd decide to post a guard in the west tower. He hadn't planned on this. The west tower was supposed to be empty. It was always empty. The peacekeepers had never thought it worth covering because the way the shift changes worked out, there was usually somebody hanging around the west end anyway, so a guard was just never necessary. Even when there was a guard though, usually, it was one of his people. Regulus usually made sure that whoever was standing in that tower was in on everything. Unfortunately, the peacekeeper in there wasn't wearing a black bandana around his arm. Meaning that in every sense of the word, he couldn't be trusted.

Cursing, Dust looked at his watch. Three hours until the reaping. That would give him about a half an hour to get back in the district, if he planned on selling his goods before the reaping that is. His dealers wouldn't be happy if he got to them after the reaping though. With his luck, they'd shoot him if he came too late. Wouldn't that just be swell?

Taking a deep breath, he flattened himself against ground, making sure he took in everything. Currently, he was lying in a patch of thick grass as he gazed at the electrical fence around District Six, his home. The occupied west tower was about a one hundred yards in front of him, and the next two towers were about a mile away in either direction. He couldn't risk trying to wiggle his way underneath the hole between the west tower and the one to the right because they usually had a motion sensor active there on national holidays. He could try the other tower to the left to see if there was a guard stationed there, but it would cost him ten minutes of precious time. With that tower being guarded about ninety percent of the time, the risk wasn't worth it.

"Become a smuggler, they said. It'll be fun, they said," Dust muttered under his breath bitterly. On second thought, maybe his dealers weren't the ones he should be worried about. They might let him live if his delivery was late. The peacekeepers, on the other hand, would surely whip him to death if he missed the reaping.

Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to make this last-minute trip to Eight. About three weeks ago, Dust's friend, Books, had gotten a wire from his cousin, Loot, in District Eight that one of their dealers had a big buyer and they needed some goods fast. The problem was that Books had been assigned a Capitol job now that he had turned nineteen, and he needed somebody to do the run for him. Naturally, Dust had volunteered for the job. Books and Loot were like his brothers after all. He had planned on returning yesterday, but due to some unforeseen circumstances involving a carrier in Eight, he had been delayed a day. If he had known he'd be stuck outside District lines just a couple of hours before the reaping started, he'd have told Books to send his younger brother, who was seven. The kid hadn't been officially initiated yet, but his attendance wasn't required at the reaping. Even if he was a bit green, it was just a simple trip.

"Come on," he mumbled to himself, feeling anxious to get back inside.

"There's always a second way in. Always," Book's words echoed in his mind.

"So where's my second way, Books? Where," he breathed.

_Bam!_

A loud clapping noise echoed through the air. Dust felt his entire body jump, as he looked around, searching for the gun. The noise was distant though. Whatever it was, it wasn't close. In the tower, the peacekeeper disappeared. Dust smiled. It appeared that the powers at be were on his side today. Not wasting a moment's time, he sprinted forwards. Every joint in his body tensed as he covered the short distance in a heart beat, and launched himself onto the wall. Gripping each stone like an expert, he scaled the wall of the tower and slipped through its window. Inside, a tall muscular figure was sitting against the wall, a black bandana wrapped around his bicep.

"Sorry Dust, Regulus was slightly confused about the schedule. Don't worry, we had things taken care of though," the young man said.

Dust smiled bitterly, not wanting to know who got shot today because of this little hiccup. "You coming with me to the transfer spot?" he asked.

The young man grinned. "'Course I am. Red wouldn't have things any other way," he answered.

"Well I guess its my lucky day, eh Books?" Dust rolled his eyes.

"As always... Can I see them?" he responded. Dust sighed, lifting up his shirt to reveal ten small metal cases that were strapped to his chest. Each one contained four ten gram vials of pure morphling. Books always liked being careful.

"Don't worry, I didn't lose any," Dust reassured him. "I'm the best after all."

Books nodded satisfied, and Dust lowered his shirt again. "Just had to be sure. I value my life after all, and Red's in a bad mood today," he mumbled.

Dust frowned unhappily. Maybe he'd be getting a bullet between the eyes today after all.

* * *

Crescent Lolium, 17, District 6

* * *

Crescent kept her eyes on the ground, not because she was nervous in the crowded square or shy with her peers, but because of the fascinating forms that morphed underneath the crowd. This one huge mass of living darkness could not be created in the solitude of her own bedroom. It required hundreds of people to gather together in one spot. Only then could their shadows unify to one heart beat.

"Hello again, citizens of Six," Mayor Trayston said. The shadows were more alive than that man. Ever since his son died in the bloodbath two years ago, he been making regular visits to her father's hospital late at night to pick up bucketfuls of anti-depressant. She wasn't a doctor just yet, but even she knew that one of these days, the mayor would overdose.

Fifteen minutes later, he was done with his short speech, and the escort was walking up swiftly to relieve him of his duties. With a depressed hunch, he moped back over to the line of chairs behind him, joining District Six's four victors. Crescent stood on her toes to try and catch of glimpse of the stage floor. The shadows of the District victors fascinated her. They all seemed uncharacteristically empty when compared to those of a normal person's.

"Hello hello," Mazy Dazy, their escort fluttered as she practically floated to the microphone. She had gotten some kind of make over during the course of the previous year. Now she had a pair of delicate magenta wings protruding from her back, matching her skin. Crescent frowned at the absurd appendage. Absently she wondered if these aesthetic wings had the same anatomy as that of a real bird. Somehow she doubted it.

"So shall we just get started. I'm so excited for this year's tributes, aren't you?" she squealed as she bounced over to the big glass ball to the left. "Alright, girls first... Crescent Lolium? Is there a Crescent Lolium out there?"

Crescent didn't move for a moment as a wave of confusion passed over her. It was not that she was disoriented from the announcement of her name, she simply wasn't sure how to proceed. A sea of emotions rumbled inside her, each one challenging the next as they threatened to overwhelm her. Should she be devastated? Angry? Maybe even excited to be meeting some new forms of darkness? She simply didn't know. One part of her wanted to break down into tears, whilst another wanted to leap forward, hissing threats at Mazy Dazy.

Then in one brisk second, she began gliding forwards. Her face was void of everything. It would be easier on herself that way. Feeling nothing what so ever would surly be better than breaking down in some kind of panic attack because she felt too much. Pushing forwards she walked up to Mazy Dazy on her own free will.

She would decide her true feelings on this matter later, after a nice long chat with the dark crevices of her future train compartment.

* * *

Dust Lectart, 17, District 6

* * *

Dust watched impatiently as some ginger haired girl walked confidently to the stage. He didn't know her, so there were better things to be doing than wasting his time waving watching her march to certain death. It wasn't that he was heartless or anything. Sure, he felt sorry for the girl. He simply had bigger fish to fry. Being a smuggler, his world was much larger than just the confined space in District Six. The ties he felt to his District weren't as strong as the other citizens, so rooting for a District Six tribute to win seemed silly to him. All of the kids were sob stories waiting to happen. Whichever district the victor was from, good for them. Anyways, he wouldn't even be in town to watch the Hunger Games. Red had given him another package for District Three. He'd be on the road by nightfall.

What really was important here was that his younger sister Silvina wasn't reaped. She was standing in the fifteen year old section now, probably feeling immensely relieved. He hadn't got a chance to say hi to any of his siblings since he was in town. He had three, two sisters, Silvina and May, who was nineteen now and no longer of reaping age, and one brother, Gibbs who was fourteen. None of them were in the trade. One smuggler made enough money to support all four of them plus their parents.

He supposed that it was good that Fleet, his next door neighbor didn't get reaped as well. She was a friend, well sort of. He wasn't actually quite sure what they were at the moment. He was almost positive she had broke up with him last time they had talked- something about how he was never around. Then again, he never knew when she was being serious.

"Onto the boys," Mazy smiled. She moved over to the second bowl. "Remendado Lectart." Of all things, Dust started to laugh. Every single face turned to him, looking at him like he was crazy or something. "Oh, is that you?" the escort asked, clearly thrown by his reaction.

Of all things, this is how he was going to die. He broke the law for a living, something that wasn't taken lightly here in Panem, and he was going to die because his name got picked out of a lottery bowl. The irony of it was so incredibly perfect, there was just nothing to do but laugh. This would happen to him. Red wasn't going to be happy about this. Oh, not at all.

He jogged up onto the stage before the peacekeepers could come drag him there using brute force. His face had lapsed into an expression filled with thoughtfulness. He knew that for most, being reaped for the Games was a death sentence, but somehow he doubted that assumption applied to him. He had something that even the careers lacked- real life experience. He had several close shaves with death before, this wouldn't be so different from those. The problem would be pulling things off without giving himself away. Panem couldn't know what he was involved with. This unlucky pick of the hat could ruin everything. Drug cartels worked best out of the spotlight.

"Smile kiddies," Mazy Dazy chirped as she displayed Dust and Crescent to the crowd. Crescent's face remained unmoving, but Dust obeyed, moving his lips into an empty smile. It was clear by his eyes, however, that his thoughts were elsewhere.

You see, for the second time that day, he found himself wondering whether Red would be shooting him that afternoon.

* * *

Crescent Lolium, 17, District 6

* * *

Crescent watched as her parents exited the room, leaving her alone with her shadow. Nobody else would be visiting her. She was the District freak. She had no doubt that everybody already counted her as dead. "I bet you do too," she said softly to her shadow. "No, huh. That's just because if I die, you'll lose your form too. You're biased." She felt calmer now, more accepting of her fate. It was much easier to cope with her own death now that she was alone and out of the sunlight. It made her feel safer.

"What about that other boy, Recomendado. He looked pretty strong. I'll have to beat him if I'm going to win," she argued with her silhouette. She remembered the strange boy as he walked up to join her on stage. He had been laughing, a bitter smile present on his tanned features. She didn't recognize him at all, which she had found strange. Of course the name Lectart was familiar to her, but the boy himself made her draw a blank. She was rather observant. For her to forget a face was rare.

"Yeah, I don't think I could win in a fight with him either," she agreed. "Right, that's a good strategy I guess. Yes, it'll be much safer that way. You'll protect me right? Mmhmm, then I'll be safer in the shadows anyway."

She nodded, feeling satisfied with her conversation. She wasn't happy that she had been chosen, she decided, but she would not despair about it either. She would simply bear this burden in the most uncomfortable of ways, and pray that things turned out for the better. She did have one thing going for her, however, that the others didn't. Unlike all of the other tributes, she'd be able to bring her best friends into the arena with her.

* * *

Dust Lectart, 17, District 6

* * *

The door made a thumping sound as his family exited the room. His good byes probably weren't as teary as most. His family was already accustomed to the idea that he might die at any moment, and they were used to his absence. The biggest change for them would be his lack of income, but even that wasn't that much of an issue. Dust would still be a smuggler, even in death. His kind liked to take care of their own. Even if Red decided to stop funding his family in ten years, Books would never let them starve.

The door creaked open again as two more figures walked into the room. Books came in first, a grave expression etched into his usually cheery face. A heavy greasy looking man in a suit followed him. Immediately, Dust's eyes fell onto the gun holster that was prominently displayed on the man's hip. So Red had decided to shoot him after all.

"This is a bit off-color, don't you think. I mean, I know you like making things a little rough, but making Books watch it, really?" Dust chuckled softly, his eyes still pinned to the gun.

"We're not here to shoot you," Books said immediately.

"You're not," Dust muttered hesitantly.

Red cleared his throat. "That's not what we're here for, no, but it's not below me to put a bullet through your head," he threatened. Dust quieted at the direct threat. He would have to play out the next couple of minutes very carefully. "You're number one job in the Capitol is not to survive, its to keep the secret. Understand me?"

"That went without saying,"Dust replied, relaxing slightly.

Red nodded. "But I want to be absolutely clear on the matter. It's easy to say that you aren't going to play rat now when your safe. If I get the Capitol breathing down my back because of you, it's not going to matter whether you win or not. Understand me? And it's not going to matter for your family either."

Dust swallowed hard. This was the way of the business. He'd gotten this very same speech the day he was initiated. Somehow it seemed more real this time around. "Yes sir," he said.

Red's shoulders relaxed slightly and a small smile played across his plump lips. Beside him, Books was looking exceedingly uncomfortable. Dust exchanged a look with his best friend. Both of their eyes spelled out the same thing- this wasn't how they wanted their final goodbyes to be.

"I have one more thing to tell you kid," Red said. Dust felt his shoulders tighten again as he braced for another threat. "When you're in that arena, I want you to make one of them careers angry. Make sure that you put yourself out there as the face of the career opposition. Understand me?"

Dust frowned. This was possibly the oddest piece of advice anyone had ever given him. Making the careers angry most certainly seemed counter productive. "Um, why?" Dust asked.

Red cackled, his gritty laugh filling the room. Books was the one who answered his question. "Its the career Districts, they're getting cocky. Red got some info, some of the higher-ups in Districts One, Two, and Four have been making some demands from the Capitol that the Capitolites aren't happy about. They've won four years in a row and now they think they're invincible. Word on the street is that the Head Gamemaker is going to be sending a message this year. Having the career's number one enemy win would be like a dagger through their hearts," he said urgently. Dust was silent for a moment. That was an interesting piece of information indeed, but it didn't mean that becoming career target number one would guarantee his survival. For all he knew, the Gamemakers might just have a volcano explode on day three, wiping out everybody except one like they did a couple of years ago. That would send an equally potent message.

"I'll think about it," he decided. Books relaxed visibly, holding his hand out to his best friend. Dust smiled and took it, throwing his spare hand around Books' back. "See you on the other side," he said under his breath, so that Red couldn't hear him. It was an old saying that he and Books always exchanged before doing something stupid and dangerous.

Books smiled sadly. "Just try and keep up with me," he replied on cue.

Dust sighed. Now it was time to start looking towards the future, and the uncertain circumstances surrounding his sentence to certain death.

* * *

**A/N These two were two of my favorites so far. Both of them were incredibly original, so big thanks to their creators for making them. We're half way through the reapings now. Hopefully my updates will start coming faster in the near future, but just a heads up, I'm going to be out of commission for the next couple of days so it might take a little more than a week for District Seven. (with some luck though, it won't take so long). **

**Until next time**


	8. District Seven Reaping

Kan Murcius, 17, District 7

* * *

Kan sat on the roughly constructed wooden chair in front of his house and watched as the people walked by. One of the legs on the chair was slightly off-balance, allowing him to rock back and forth gently in his seat. The air in District Seven was unnaturally silent as families marched like ghosts towards the town square, heading towards the reaping. Kan would be headed that way too in a half an hour or so. He was just waiting for his parents to finish getting dressed. They weren't early risers like he was, so he was used to waiting around for them in the morning. Of course, if he was getting really impatient, he could just wake them up, but he felt sort of guilty doing that. They worked hard enough as it was, let them sleep in a little if they wanted to.

As the silence of the street began to bother him, Kan took up a nice familiar tune, humming it to himself in hopes of lifting not only his, but maybe some other worried kid's spirits too. Reaping day always gave him the jitters, as it did for everyone else in the District. He was probably just worrying for nothing though. His odds weren't too terrible, he probably wouldn't get chosen.

Of course, if he wasn't picked, that always left the question of who would be. It was a rotten hope to pray that it would be somebody he didn't know, because honestly, nobody dissevered to get reaped. At the same time, however, when it was a friend or acquaintance, that made the Games so much harder for him to watch. His grade on a whole hadn't been very lucky in recent years. Every reaping since he had turned twelve, someone from his grade had been reaped. That didn't mean that he knew all of them, but it was nerve-wracking when someone standing just feet away from him in the town square moved to go up to the stage. It was just another reminder of how close it was to being him.

While Kan was sitting there, his thoughts rambling aimlessly as he hummed, a group of young kids were scampering down the street. Seven of them in total weaved through the lifeless procession as they played what appeared to be an intense game of tag. Kan's eyes lit up as they ran by. The more childish half of him wanted to jump up and join them; although he doubted any of the adults would approve.

That was when one of the kids tripped. The little boy, who was obviously under reaping age, cried out as his knee scrapped the dirt, taking a solid layer or two of skin off. The tears had barely welled up in his eyes when Kan was on his feet, grabbing his little wooden supply that sat just inside the door of his house. Running out into the dirt road, he knelt beside the crying boy.

"Hey," he smiled warmly as he eyed the boy's scrape. "My name is Kan, I'm sort of like an unofficial doctor. That looks like it hurts, do you mind if I check it out?"

The boy shook his head and held his knee up for Kan as he sniffled. Quickly, Kan reached into his kit and took out a cloth, dampening it with a vial of water. The boy stiffened as Kan dabbed the cloth on his scrape, cleaning off all the dirt that had gotten into it. Then he reached into his box again and began to wipe some peroxide onto the bandage he was going to put on the kid.

All the while, Kan didn't stop talking. "So, what's your name kid?"

"Teek," the boy responded.

"That's a cool name. You guys were playing tag huh? I used to love playing tag; although, I was never very good at it. The other kids were always faster than me, so I'd get caught. It probably isn't all that great an idea to be playing tag in the street today though. There's so many people around, it's no wonder you fell. I'd recommend going into the woods myself. Nobody's working today, so it's probably relatively safe as long as you stay away from the machinery and axes and stuff. And I bet it'd be a lot funner out there where there are more hiding spots, you know. But that's just me. I'm not an expert on tag or anything, so..."

Before he knew it the boy's knee was all put back together again. Kan smiled as the boy thanked him quickly before running off again with his friends.

"Kan?"a voice called from behind him. He turned to see his father frowning at him from the door way of his house. "You ready to go?"

"Oh yeah, sorry dad. Some kid just fell. I was helping him out," Kan explained quickly as he hopped to his feet, ready to get the reaping over with.

* * *

Rowan Diatello, 15, District 7

* * *

Rowan smiled as she watched some of the neighborhood boys out of the window play tag. One of them, Teek she thought his name was, had fallen just a few moments ago, scraping his knee, but one of her neighbors had run out to help him. She almost wished that he hadn't. Helping that kid would have been the perfect excuse to get outside for a couple of minutes. Of course, the concept of a good excuse was lost on Yumber, so she would have gotten yelled at anyways.

It was probably better that Kan had treated the kid anyway. Her neighbor was well known as a medic throughout the village. He spent most of his days in the forest treating injured workers. Obviously he knew more about injuries than she did. If she had gotten to the kid first, she probably would have been next to useless as far as the cut came. Oh well though.

"Rowan, there is dirt in my bathroom," a crow-like screech echoed through the house. Rowan sighed as she rose to her feet. So the witch was in fact up already.

"I cleaned it just yesterday," Rowan called up as she made her way through the living room and into their sorry excuse for a bathroom. Yumber was standing in front of the mirror, a scowl predominantly featured on her face. Her stringy hair was up in some expensive looking curlers that Rowan had never seen before. They must have been her stepmother's most recent splurge. It almost made Rowan sick to her stomach to think that the woman was wasting all of her money on something so stupid and frivolous. Here Rowan was, half starving to death, and Yumber thought it was appropriate to go buy hair curlers. How big of her.

"Do you see it, look here," Yumber snapped, pointing a long bony finger at a smudge on the mirror.

With a sigh, Rowan ran to go get a damp towel and returned to wipe up the spot. With a careful hand she gently tried to take the spot off the mirror, but unlike the grime that she had removed from it the other day, the spot smeared easily where she rubbed it. With a frown Rowan took another clean spot on her rag and tried again. She was sure she wasn't imagining things at that point, whatever the spot was, it wasn't dirt. Reaching out, she felt the texture in between her fingers. It was oily.

A large frown stretched across the girls face as it dawned on her. "You bought hair product too didn't you?" she demanded, an uncharacteristic wave of rage washing over her.

Yumber's mouth fell open in some false attempt to look shocked. "How dare you speak to me that way young lady," she said. "After all I've done for you. You should know yourself, every penny I make goes to the food that is in your stomach."

"That must be why I'm starving," Rowan sneered without thinking. "You bought it with my money then?" Yumber's face went red with rage as she and Rowan stared at each other, both enraged. It was only after the starring fight dragged on for an entire agonizing minute that Rowan realized the mistake she had made in challenging the woman.

"I'll just go to the reaping now," Rowan decided aloud in a last-ditch effort to get out of the situation. It was no use fighting with her right now. Yumber would just end up winning anyway. The house was listed under her name, as technically she was Rowan's guardian, so as much as Rowan hated her situation, she couldn't do anything about it for another three years. In the mean time, Yumber might as well stick a leash around her neck and declare to the world that she owned her.

"Freeze young lady," Yumber shrieked suddenly, snatching Rowan's wrist. Rowan turned slowly and looked the woman in the eye. What did she want now? "This isn't how your father would have wanted me to be treated. Now you're going to wash that _dirt_ off that mirror now, or so help me God, I will disown you and throw you into that sorry little orphanage down the street."

Rowan gritted her teeth. Part of her wanted so badly to defy her step-mother even further, and storm out the door. That wasn't an option though. She wouldn't make it very long in the orphanage by herself. They both knew it.

"Now what do you have to say to me?" Yumber asked, her tone as condescending as possible.

Rowan looked at the ground. "Yes ma'am," she mumbled.

"I can't hear you."

"I said yes ma'am," Rowan practically yelled back.

The witch smirked. "Now that is much better," she said slowly and carefully. With that, she stormed out of the room, leaving poor Rowan alone to tend to her work.

With sagged shoulders, Rowan began to clean the entire mirror again, making sure she didn't miss so much as a drop. Things didn't used to be this way. There used to be a time when she was happy with both of her real parents. Then her mother had to go off and die, leaving her alone with her father. The man wasn't actually that bad, until he married Yumber without even telling Rowan. The witch woman just showed up one day with a ring around her finger, bossing Rowan around. Yumber was only with her father for a couple of months before he kicked the bucket too. That alone was enough to ruin Rowan's life forever, but then there was the entire Mason ordeal. Just thinking about that made Rowan's cheeks turn bright pink.

But of course, wallowing in her own sorrows wasn't going to get her anywhere. She was alone, but she was used to it. All she had to do was take one step at a time, starting with the reaping later that day, then when she was eighteen things would be better.

Things had to get better.

* * *

Kan Murcius, 17, District 7

* * *

Kan moved through the crowd in District Seven, his eyes pinned on the ground. On a normal day, he would have been excited to be surrounded by so many of his peers. He stopped going to school a long time ago when he found that he had an aptitude for the medical field. He was much more needed running rounds to treat injured workers than being cooped up in a classroom learning Capitol propaganda. Thus compared to some of the other kids his age, he didn't have as much of a chance to socialize, despite his love for conversation. But then on the other hand, it was the reaping, so really he shouldn't be happy, no matter what the reason.

With his hands in his pockets, he got into the check in line where a row of peacekeepers were stabbing kid's fingers with needles. Kan scanned the row of peacekeepers, easily finding Constance working behind the desk. With a nervous smile, he shifted two lines to the left and awaited his turn.

"Hey Kan," Constance smiled when she saw him.

He smiled back, relieved to see a familiar face. While Kan may not have had as many teenage friends, his time in the field had given him quite a few friendships with some of the adults. Constance was a young peacekeeper who usually worked supervising the same fields that Kan made his rounds in. At first he had been a little suspicious about talking to a peacekeeper, but Constance was really a nice person.

"Hi," Kan rocked forwards, handing her his finger. "Having a nice day?"

She laughed at his formality. "Yeah sure, if you think pricking thousands of fingers is fun."

"It could be fun," Kan mused with a slight nervous chuckle. "If you think about it in a certain light... Sort of."

Constance rolled her eyes. "Next," she called.

Kan pushed forwards towards his age section. He settled beside three guys, Grover, Barrett, and Birch, that he recognized from around his neighborhood in the slums, not wasting any time jumping into the conversation.

"Two more years man, then we'll be safe," Birch.

Kan grinned. "I can't wait to be done with all of this stuff," he said. Grover and Barrett nodded in agreement, making way for him in their little circle without much of a second thought.

Eventually, the mayor started speaking, and the group of boys quieted themselves, turning their attention to the stage. When he finished speaking, an unfamiliar woman stepped up to the microphone. They must have a new escort this year since District Seven hadn't had a victor in so long. The woman looked older than most escorts, though not because she had an exuberant amount of wrinkles. Her skin looked so incredibly stretched out that her features took on a matronly appearance. Her skin was the normal creamy pale color at least, but other than that she looked like some kind of freakish doll.

"Hello District Seven, its such a pleasure to meet all of you. My name is Twiddle Dawson, I'll be taking over for Ms. Rocket this year. So let's see who will be our lucky young tributes this year. Ladies first now... Rowan Diatello!"

The sound of somebody's breath hitching in a choked gasp ran through the crowd. Kan craned his neck to see where it had come from. That name was familiar to him, although, he couldn't place it right away. A girl with long strawberry blonde hair emerged from the fifteen year old section, shaking as she walked towards the stage. Kan's face fell when he recognized her. It was that girl who lived down the street from him. Her step mother was going to be devastated.

* * *

Rowan Diatello, 15, District 7

* * *

Her life was ending. She had just been sentenced to a horrible brutal death in the Hunger Games. She would never get to escape Yumber's wrath. Her entire life would just be one never ending tragedy that started with pain and would end with more pain. A few stray tears fell down her cheeks as she trudged forwards. This morning she had an entire life time ahead of her. Now she had about a week.

But maybe you could win, a small voice said in the back of her mind. A victor's winnings were their's after all. None of it belonged to their parents or relatives. If she won, she could escape from Yumber, no strings attached. She could just taste the freedom on her tongue- an unfamiliar feeling that was just out of her reach. Lifting her head up high, she marched up the stage, trying to look brave. This was her chance, and even if she didn't want it, she wouldn't let it go to waste. At least, not without a fight.

"Oh goody, you're Rowan then?" Twiddle Dawson inquired. Rowan nodded confidently, taking her place beside the escort. "Onto the boys... Kan Murcius! Do I have a Kan out there?"

Rowan felt her heart fall. Kan. That boy who lived down the street from her, the one who was always being friendly to everyone. He didn't deserve this. He was too good for it all. More than that, how could she ever possibly consider killing him?

In the crowd, Rowan watched as some of the boys parted, allowing for the peacekeepers to come in. Kan was frozen in the center of them. He wasn't trying to run, but he didn't appear capable of walking. Two burly peacekeepers grabbed ahold of each of his arms and brusquely carried him up towards the stage. About half way there, Kan's eyes met Rowan's. His were filled with nothing but misery.

"And then you must be Kan," Twiddle said sweetly, holding her mic up to his mouth once he arrived.

He stared blankly out at the District. "Um, yeah, yeah, I-I'm Kan," he stuttered out. His face was a ghostly pale. It was as if the life had already been drained from him. His name had been called, and immediately he had been reduced to nothing but a corpse.

"District Seven, your tributes!" Twiddle cheered, holding up both Rowan's and Kan's hands up like they were receiving a victory crown.

It must have looked like they were cheering, Rowan thought, cheering with sorry faces, not making a sound. What a sorry sight they must be.

* * *

**A/N Looks like I've had more writing time than I anticipated, so here's a quicker update. By the by, I think I've officially finished planning out everything. Some things aren't set in stone just yet, but I've already picked out the victor, and I know the order of all the deaths. Your tributes fates are more or less, finalized. And unless I change things unexpectedly, I promise, you're all going to be shocked. Like if you think that Chateaux sacrificing herself for Kegan in my last story was a bit of a twist, then this one is going to send everybody spinning. **

**I'm quite excited. **

**Until next time.**


	9. District Eight Reaping

Avanna Welcher, 16, District 8

* * *

It was picture perfect. The light that fluttered through the window was that perfect warm golden color. It hit the jewels gently, with an almost motherly caress, before passing through their transparent surfaces, making them light up like fireflies. The little glowing gems reflected their silhouettes onto the floor, making a gorgeous crystal pattern that spun delicately every time somebody passed in front of the shop, interrupting the angle that the light flowed in.

The scene made her yearn for a pad and pencil, or maybe even a paint brush, but she knew better. Sometimes a scene like this wasn't ever meant to be captured on paper; it was simply meant to be soaked up and enjoyed. That was the source of true happiness after all.

With a deep satisfied sigh, Avanna rested her head on the counter, tilting it slightly as she watched the room with a feeling of extreme content. She loved mornings like these, when her parents left her in charge of their shop. It gave her some time to just sit back and relax, watching some of the most beautiful diamonds, rubies, and sapphires just soak up the sun. She didn't know what incredible strain of luck she had been riding when she was born, but she couldn't have been more grateful that her parents owned the only jewelry shop in District Eight. It was the perfect place for a young artistic mind like hers to cultivate.

"What 'cha looking at," a young voice nagged behind her. Avanna jumped slightly at the noise as she spun around to see who had come down from upstairs to join her in the shop. "Geez, I didn't mean to scare you." Avanna laughed lightly when she realized it was just her younger brother, Merik. He was still dressed in his green pajamas and was holding his purple teddy bear under one arm. His dark green eyes studied her quizzically, making him look more like he was fifty years old than six.

"Just the light, see, isn't it pretty?" Avanna explained, pointing at the floor of the shop. Merik walked over to the counter with a certain swagger that clearly showed he meant business, and hoisted himself upwards so that he could see out into the shop. With his little head just poking out over the surface, he surveyed the room critically, soaking in the sight.

"Yeah, I guess its kind of pretty," Merik agreed after a couple of moments.

"Kind of pretty?" Avanna said only half-astonished at the little boy's reaction. "I don't think you've ever seen anything so pretty."

Merik crossed his arms curtly and gave her 'the eye'. "Yes I have. Elea is upstairs getting ready for the reaping, and her hair is prettier than all that stuff, and your drawings are prettier too, and so is mommy. That's just light. Light can't be pretty, it's not real," he declared defensively. Avanna didn't really have a response to that, other than to laugh at the absurdity of his little six-year-old logic. But that was Merik. He always had that way of cheering everybody up around him, even if he didn't always mean to.

"It is too real," Avanna argued uselessly.

Merik just shook his head. "Mom said for me to tell you that I could watch over the shop so that you could get dressed. Elea finally got out of the bathroom," he said, changing the subject.

Avanna rolled her eyes as she got up from her seat behind the counter, looking wistfully out at the store one last time before turning back to Merik. "I'm sure Elea wasn't actually in there that long. You're just a boy so you don't understand. Anyways, are you sure mom is letting you watch the store again, even after last time?" she said.

"Yeah she is," he nodded eagerly. "Dad told her to let me."

"Alright, but I'm checking when I get up there to see if you're lying," she informed him.

"You do that," he waved her off. Avanna smirked. Nobody knew where he got that attitude from.

Running up the stairs, Avanna deposited the memory of the store in the back of her mind so that maybe she could draw it later. For the moment though, she had to become serious. Today was reaping day after all, and while she could try and forget about it during the lull of the morning, she couldn't ignore the uglier things in life forever.

* * *

Dice Bromton, 18, District 8

* * *

The ornate door creaked open at a painfully slow rate. A thin wiry woman with washed out hair stood behind it, peering out at him with sunken panicked eyes. With a frantic look around, she beckoned him inside, roughly handling him by his shoulder in the process. He endured it hatefully, only allowing it because he needed her money.

"Do you have my package," the woman asked in the dark din of her foyer. Her eyes searched him like a needy baby as he reached inside his jacket and gripped the carefully wrapped box he'd been carrying. He could only imagine what kind of nasty drugs he was handing over to this woman. If he had to guess, it was probably morphling. That was usually what he was carrying when that guy "Loot" hired him.

Without a word, he handed over her merchandise and watched as she clawed it open with no regard for his presence. She was one of his less cautious clients, allowing him to see what it was he was carrying because she was so desperate to see it herself. There were others that didn't like him touching their stuff, let alone looking at it. He working for them.

"My money ma'am," Dice prompted her impatiently. People like her usually needed to be reminded several times for payment. They were usually too busy trying to find their needles to remember that they owed him his tip.

"R-right," the woman stuttered, as if she just realized he was there. Quickly, she reached into the breast pocket on her robe and pulled out a wad of cash.

He smiled, somewhat sarcastically, and took it. "It was a pleasure doing business," he said gruffly.

The woman suddenly grabbed his arm, staring at his face intently. "Don't use the front door. The back, by the pool, go that way. He can't see. He'll know," she rambled urgently. Dice nodded, moving through her house brusquely without asking any further questions. He wanted to get back out into the open air so that he could meet up with his younger brother quickly before the reaping. Anyway, big mansions like this always smelled like expensive perfume and money. The aroma made him feel sick to his stomach.

He half-jogged, half-walked around the back of the house, stealthily making his way back to the road. Without the burden of a package on him, he allowed himself to relax and slow his pace a little. Even if the peacekeepers thought he looked out-of-place on the rich side of the District, they wouldn't be able to pin him for anything suspicious now.

Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the bills that the woman had given him, counting them in his head. Eight... nine... ten. Not bad for reaping day. Usually it was the slowest day of the year. People went crazy the week before hand, hiring his services as a currier left and right. Then on the actual reaping day, all the rich yuppies had all of their things in place, and didn't need him any more. The woman he was just delivering to probably didn't have any kids, or any relatives that were kids, or maybe she was just too addicted to care otherwise. He hated rich people.

It was about a half an hour walk to the East End of District Eight, where he lived, but he cut the time in half, as he took up a steady jog. A few clients waved hello to him as he went- he was rather popular currier. There were a lot of them in District Eight. Sometimes when somebody had a relatively unimportant package to deliver, they'd just pick a kid off the street and pay them a couple of bucks to carry it across the district. Then viola, there would be a new currier walking around, offering their services. The trick was finding a reliable currier though, because most random kids couldn't be trusted not to peak into packages or get distracted half way there and forget about the delivery. Dice prided himself on being the most reliable currier around. Not once had he ever opened a package without permission, or failed to get it to the correct destination, and more importantly, he'd never gotten caught by peacekeepers who did occasional random check ups to see what was circulating through the District. That made him a prime employee for some of the shadier citizens of Eight, people who couldn't afford for law enforcement to catch a waft of their business. Of course, that might have bothered some people, working for criminals, but Dice didn't really care. His job was not strictly illegal, and anyways, money was money.

When Dice made it back into his house, his brother was there waiting for him. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes scanning a crumpled up newspaper intelligently. Dice smiled at the boy when he entered the room, stashing his cash in a shoebox he hid underneath their well-used book case. "'Sup Dixon. Read anything decent in there," he said lightly.

"Yeah, apparently there's been some stress in the Capitol pertaining to the current Gamemaker. The newspaper isn't sure whether she's insane or brilliant," Dixon joked, jumping to his feet.

Dice wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Why do you bring such disgusting crap into my house," he asked.

Dixon laughed lightly, elbowing his brother in the gut. "Because we haven't got anything better around to read," he answered easily.

Dice sighed, feeling guilty all of a sudden. Dixon was the only one in the family that could read, so books weren't exactly high on the shopping list. Dice had quit school a long time ago, knowing that there were better ways to climb to the top of the financial later than sitting in that hell hole every day for his entire childhood. He wasn't any good at the stuff anyways. Dixon though, he was a genius, and nothing made Dice more furious. His brother was too good for this crap life. He was the one who deserved to be sitting in those luxurious mansions, putting his noggin to good use. But no. They lived in the East End, and Dixon was probably already sentenced to a life of perpetual manual labor and underemployment. He was so much better than all of them.

"I got a big payment in today. Maybe we can stop by the bookstore and buy you something that isn't so stupid after the reaping," Dice said quietly.

Dixon grinned, looking genuinely touched by his brother's gesture. "Aw, see? He does have a heart," he joked. "We shouldn't though. You promised mom a good dinner remember? After all, today's your big day. It's your last reaping! We're supposed to be buying you presents."

"I'm just overwhelmed with excitement," Dice said, his voice lined with bitter sarcasm. His negativity was completely justified of course. Celebrating surviving the reaping was like jumping for joy and yelling 'Hey, look at me! I'm alive! They decided to slaughter that kid instead! Whoopee!"

"There's that winning smile," Dixon rolled his eyes. "Now come on, if you don't hurry we're going to be late."

* * *

Avanna Welcher, 16, District 8

* * *

Avanna stood on her tippy toes, gazing through the rows of dull faced children. The scene in the town square was a complete one-eighty from the spectacle the light was making in her parent's shop earlier that morning. There was nothing mysterious or beautiful about the reaping. It was nothing but a culmination of a year's worth of hardships, manifesting in this awful cattle line up.

Of course, there were some similarities between the shop and the reaping. Both were just asking to become paintings; although, somebody else would have to paint this nightmare. Sometimes, fear and horror translated better onto a canvas than serene happiness. Avanna wasn't any good at former sort of painting though. She had tried many times to capture the right sort of sorrow that the reapings created, but her various efforts never worked right. She was missing something, though she had no idea what.

Just then, by the entrance of the square, Avanna spotted a young lanky man with a mop of greased back brown hair. She smiled and waved to him, and he waved back. With a crooked smile, he nodded and turned away, elbowing somebody beside him. Avanna smiled, this was what she'd hoped for.

A few moments later, a skinny girl with short white blonde hair appeared through the mass of bodies, a grim smile on her lips. "Hey, what's up?" Lacey asked.

Avanna shrugged, a knowing smile on her lips. "Nothing much. How's Melton doing?"

"Oh, you know how he is. It's reaping day and he's off joking about how Lea Paylor used to be sexy," her friend replied, rolling her eyes. Avanna snorted at the girl's annoyance. Lacey and Melton, the boy she had seen over the crowd just a moment ago, had been Avanna's best friends since before she could remember. The three were almost inseparable.

It was about six months ago when Avanna had noticed the difference between her freinds' demeanors when they were each with her individually and when they were with each other. Specifically, she had been drawing Melton laughing with Lacey, but she couldn't get his eyes right. Then she realized that he didn't look at her the way he looked at other people. When Melton was with Lacey, his eyes took up a particular sparkle, like the kind her father's eyes had when he looked at her mother. Avanna was quite convinced now that her two best friends were meant for each other.

She was just waiting for Lacey to notice it herself. She was a smart girl though. Avanna had no doubt that they'd be together eventually.

"He just likes reminding you that he's a guy occasionally," Avanna said. Lacey smiled because she knew her friend was right.

"I guess so," she shrugged. "But you'd think that he would be able to refrain from doing it like twenty times a day."

Suddenly the microphone on the stage let out a loud whine as the mayor roughly handled it. Within the next couple of minutes, their escort, Persephone, was standing at the reaping bowl reaching into the pool of names. Avanna held her breath, like she did every year, and reached out to grip Lacey's hand. With all of her might, she willed that this year's tribute wouldn't be her or her best friend. By the time Persephone had unfolded the paper, her face was just about blue.

"Avanna Welcher"

Fear. Horrible unavoidable fear. That quick. That was how fast a life could be ruined. Some kind of squeal escaped her lips as she felt Lacey's hand drop from her own. This couldn't be happening. Somebody screamed her name from one of the older sections. Her sister. Elea. The agonizing howls of her parents quickly followed. She felt the hot burning of tears in her eyes. No. She had to hold them back. She had to look brave. She had always been brave right? She wasn't sure. What was it to be brave again? She didn't know, and she would never know.

She was going to die.

* * *

Dice Bromton, 18, District 8

* * *

Dice watched the girl get dragged to the stage, a look of anguish on her face. He recognized her, of course. She was the jeweler's daughter, a rich girl. Naturally, he felt no pity. For once, one of those stuck up money snobs was finally getting a taste of real fear. Then when she died, her family would know grief too. Maybe then he wouldn't hate them as much. Of course, that was just wistful thinking because even once this girl died, her parents would still be rich, and her siblings would still be ridiculously privileged. They could all die and they still wouldn't know the pain that he and his family had gone through.

"Onto the boys," Persephone drawled dully.

Dice braced himself for the worst, glancing over his shoulder and finding Dixon watching the stage with a sad but worried glint in his eye. Maybe there'd be another rich brat reaped, then he wouldn't have to mourn anybody that night.

"Dice Bromton."

His eyes flashed up to the woman, an expression of absolute fury burning on his face. An anger that had been festering for eighteen years suddenly erupted in his gut as he glared at the stage. Finally, he'd been making headway with his life. A few more months and he would've been able to move his family out of the East End to the downtown area. His mother had just quit her job a month ago. Dixon hadn't had to miss a day of school to go to the factories in a couple of weeks. Of course now he'd get reaped. That's what the Capitol did after all. It waited until you got that taste of sweet victory, then it ripped down all of your hopes and dreams, crushing them until you had nothing and you were nothing.

He felt a hand gently graze his shoulder as the peacekeepers showed up, ready to guide him to the stage. Well, he didn't want their guidance. With one mighty heave, he growled as he threw his fist into the man's chin, hitting the one spot that wasn't protected by his helmet. Seconds later, District Eight's entire law enforcement crew was in motion. Troops were covering every exit, so that he couldn't run. He knew that he'd never escape though. He was furious, not stupid. No, he planned on taking his stand right there in the middle of the square.

Three more punches later, he felt a painful sting hit his shoulder as a dart punctured his skin.

And just like that, the entire world went black.

* * *

**A/N Hiya. So there's a small chance that I might have D9 to you within the next day or two. If not, then expect a long wait for the next update. Just an fyi, I'll be computerless on and off for basically the entire summer. That means chapters are probably going to come in waves. There might be four or five chapters that all show with in days of each other, then there might be nothing for two weeks. You all know how it is though this time of the year. The schedule can be a bit erratic. Just know that even if its been forever since an update, I'm still here. I might just be busy for the time being. **


	10. District Nine Reaping

Ghram Aintree, 13, District 9

* * *

There is a certain feeling experienced right before a fight that is comparable to any drug. The heart beat picks up as adrenaline filters through the veins. The entire world focuses acutely on that one moment as every nerve ending stirs, just begging to feel alive. The experience is a byproduct of the natural ways of life. Most young men experience it at some point in their childhood. Really, Ghram Aintree's passionate pursuit for the euphoric feeling of a victorious battle wasn't overtly unusual; although, his victims would probably beg to differ.

"This should be easy. A quick in, then quick out. If he fights back, it'll probably be pretty weak. Make sure you don't break him too badly though. Maybe just give him a black eye or something," Milo said. The older boy roughly massaged Ghram's shoulders, helping him to loosen up before the big fight.

"You sure? I could really make him pay you know. We usually don't let dirt like him off so easy," Ghram asked. His eyes were pinned on a young boy about three hundred yards away. The kid looked like he was kicking a rock or something as he made his way along the dirt path that cut through one of District Nine's many rolling fields of wheat. Ghram and his friends were crouched down in the middle of the grain plants, effectively hidden.

"It's reaping day. If he's too hurt to show and the peacekeepers find out it was because of us, we'll be in deep," Milo shook his head.

"I don't see anybody else on the road," Husk called over. Ghram glanced over at their look out. Husk was sitting on Teff's shoulders with his hands cupped around his wire rimmed glasses as if they were binoculars. His sandy blonde head poked out from above the grain. Teff underneath him didn't look all that happy to be acting as the human step-ladder, but somebody had to do it. If Ghram wasn't the assailant, they might have picked him to be look out because he was the youngest of their eight boy gang and therefore the lightest. As things were, Husk would have to do. He was a better look out than Ghram anyways. Teff would just have to deal with having a fifteen year old boy who was half way through puberty on his back instead.

"Alright kid. Go show him Hell," Milo smiled.

"G'luck," Emmer called out with a mischievous grin as Ghram started forwards. Byen, Feek, and Silo echoed the good wishes with various degrees of excitement.

Ghram strode forwards eagerly towards the poor scrawny boy on the road ahead. He navigated through the field easily, taking the shortest route to the road. Just before stepping out into the open, he paused to crack his knuckles. He was ready.

"'Sup Peterson," he said, stepping into the street. The boy jumped at the sound of Ghram's voice, spinning around panicked. Ghram grinned, cracking his knuckles again. "I hear you've been having some fun in Kilo Park."

"G-Ghram," the boy squeaked. A look of blatant fear was displayed prominently on his face, and frankly, Ghram wasn't surprised by it. He had lost many fights before, but always to older, more experienced opponents. Dandy Peterson was neither older nor skilled. In fact, he was decidedly inept at all things physical. It was probably a stretch to even call this a fight.

"Ready to pay the consequences?" Ghram smirked.

"I didn't know," the boy blurted out. "My mom was sick and she really needed that medicine. I had to cut through the Park, so she'd get it faster. Please. I didn't know that it was Milo's territory. I didn't know."

"That sucks," Ghram rolled his eyes. "I guess you can call this a learning experience then. I'm sure you won't make the mistake next time."

With that, he launched himself forwards, connecting his fist with Peterson's jaw. The younger boy stumbled backwards, falling onto the ground with a yelp. Ghram jumped onto his chest, startling him in such a way that he wouldn't be able to move. He socked the kid two more times before delivering the real winner. Twisting his torso, he put his entire body into the attack, slamming the poor kid's nose with an experienced blow. A sickening cracking noise echoed through the air as the bone crunched underneath Ghram's hand.

Knowing that he had probably done too much damage, Ghram stopped and got off Peterson, surveying his now damaged face. The pitiful kid was still conscious at least, but that was probably the best he could say about him. A steady stream of crimson blood poured out of the Peterson's now broken nose, staining the dirty white shirt he was wearing. The red liquid mixed with the salty waterfall of tears that poured from the boy's eyes. With Ghram's weight removed from him, he had curled up into a fetal ball as sobs took control of him.

Ghram frowned. He definitely over did things a little. Hopefully the kid would be able to calm himself down in time for the reaping. Well, at least he wouldn't be bothering Milo anymore.

"Mess with us again, and you'll have worse than a broken nose," Ghram added, just for good measure.

As his work with Peterson was done, Ghram straightened himself out and thrusted his hands into his pockets. He began whistling a cheery tune as he disappeared once again into the field of grain, ready rejoin his friends.

* * *

Zea Bachmeier, 18, District 9

* * *

It was a nice gesture, she supposed. If she didn't want to, Maisie wouldn't have to go to the reaping. Her twentieth birthday was just the other week after all. Accompanying Zea was a choice, one that as rather generous of her. Perhaps this was the olive branch that Zea had been waiting for. Well, she hadn't really been waiting for it. That would imply that she had been expecting it, which she hadn't been. Once Maisie moved out, Zea didn't really think they'd speak. They'd be civil at family functions, of course, but outside of that she didn't put much stock into her relationship with her sister.

Just because it was decent of Maisie didn't mean that the walk was going to be fun though.

The two sisters walked side by side on the dirt road, saying nothing. Both of their faces were laced with tension and awkwardness. The longing for conversation was there- on Maisie's end at least Zea wasn't entirely sure she wanted to have any sort of chat that day- but there was nothing stimulating to talk about. The two girls had never gotten along. Tense was really the only word that had ever described their interactions, except on the few occasions when things were much more than tense. Then maybe hostile would be a better description.

"It's nice that today's your last reaping day," Maisie tried.

"Not really," Zea shrugged.

More silence. Zea was telling the truth though. There was nothing nice about the reaping. Even if it was her last year in the pot, somebody was going to be sentenced to death later that day. There really wasn't anything to be happy about, as far as the Hunger Games were concerned.

"At least mom won't have to worry for a little while," Maisie said.

"Yeah, I guess that's good," Zea responded.

She looked up at the sky, watching as storm clouds formed above. The rainy season would be coming soon. Hopefully the monsooning started after the reaping had finished. With a deep sigh, she absently wondered who would get picked. No matter who it was, they didn't stand a chance. District Nine never did well. That was probably why they only had three victors, two of whom were ancient. The closest they'd come to victory since Gwyneth Weicker had won twelve years ago was when some kid made it to the final five in the Sixty Fourth Games. Even then though the boy had been doomed. He had been the youngest tribute that year, and twelve year olds never won.

Zea thought about the Games a lot this time of the year. It wasn't that she liked them or that she found them remotely interesting. They were just a relevant topic, and as she did a lot of thinking, it was something relatively fresh to dissect with her brain.

"Are you listening?" Maisie said. Her voice was slightly raised, and there was an annoyed edge to it. A tiny wave of guilt tugged at Zea's conscious. Her sister was trying so hard. She probably should be making a better effort herself too. Maisie should know though that Zea didn't like talking that much. This failed conversation probably wasn't that much of a shock to her.

"I'm sorry. Um, I was distracted," Zea apologized quickly.

"I asked how Aluma and Leah were doing," Maisie repeated.

"Oh, they're fine," Zea smiled. "Aluma's very excited about graduation, you know. She has her future all planned out. And I think she's really looking forward to the big party her dad's throwing her. It's supposed to be a surprise, but you know her. She picks up on everything."

Zea's friends were probably the one topic her sister actually approved of. It was weird really. Usually one of the biggest sibling complaints was that so and so's sister's friends were annoying, but it wasn't like that with Maisie. According to her, Zea was the annoying one, not her friends. It only took one conversation with Aluma to understand that though. The girl was one of the most likable people on the planet.

Maisie nodded as some of the awkwardness drained from the air. "You should tell her that I said hi. I might not see either Aluma or Leah anymore once I move out you know," she said.

"I will, but you're not moving out for another couple of weeks," Zea said. "And anyways, you're going to have to come over and help mom with that new baby a lot. You can't leave me alone as her only helper. I'm worried I'll kill it."

Maisie smirked. "She hasn't even had it yet."

"That's why I'm nervous," Zea said, shooting her sister an anxious look.

"Oh, babies aren't that bad. Anyway, it's going to be your little brother or sister. You'll love it, I'm sure of it. Trust me," Maisie said. Zea stared at her sister for a minute, carefully analyzing the words. Her cheeks blushed a gentle pink color as she heard the underlying meaning of them loud and clear.

"Um, thanks, I guess," she said in a hushed and awkward tone.

"No problem little sis," the other girl snorted. "Any time."

* * *

Ghram Aintree, 13, District Nine

* * *

Ghram studied his hand carefully as he waited impatiently for the check in line to move a little faster. Punching Peterson earlier had done a number on his knuckles. They were currently turning a pretty tough looking purple color. It made him feel proud of himself. The best part was that Milo had complimented him on the battle bruises when he had gotten back. Then once the attention had been directed towards them, all of the guys were giving him hefty pats on the back. He'd done good, and he knew it.

"How'd you do that," a high-pitched voice asked. Ghram jumped a little as he turned to see who was addressing him. He groaned, his face turning an annoyed red color, when he saw the little blonde girl staring at his hand with big curious eyes.

"None of your business Ryze. Go away," he snapped at her.

Ryze crossed her arms, her upper lip protruding in a pout as her eyes bored into him. "I just wanted to know. It looks like it hurt. Did you get in another fight. Daddy doesn't like it when you fight," she rambled.

Ghram's ears went white. "I swear if you tell Zadok or my mom anything about this, I'll="

"I won't tell," the girl cut in immediately. "Will you tell me how you got it now?"

Thankfully, the check in line had shortened significantly now, and it was time for him to enter the courtyard. "Maybe later. Go find your dad and Rye now okay," he shooed her off. Ryze didn't look all that pleased with him, but she couldn't argue. She was only ten after all, not quite yet at reaping age. Ghram was happy to see her go.

Honestly, Ghram didn't really mind it when his mother remarried. His father had ditched them, and it wasn't right for her to be alone forever. He hadn't planned on acquiring two snotty annoying step sisters in the process. Vicia was okay. She didn't really like him that much, so she left him alone. It was a good system. He stayed out of her way, and she stayed out of his. Stupid Ryze wouldn't stop following him though. It was to the point that she had started to bother some of the guys because she thought everything he touched was cool, including his friends. It wouldn't be long until little Rye, his two year old half brother, started following in her footsteps too. If only his mom could have found a guy that didn't have any kids. Then his family wouldn't be all that bad.

"Ready to find out who this year's tributes are?" Larina Tallat, the escort called, snapping Ghram out of his brooding.

Ghram looked around, feeling the tension in the crowd rise. Who would die this year? That was the question that was on everyone's mind. Because lord knows, District Nine never ever won.

"Ladies first this time," she called out as she reached into the bowl. "Zea Bachmeier!"

Ghram stood on his tippy toes, looking for the doomed girl. To his surprise, there was no screaming or yelling or crying. Actually, when his eyes found the confident blonde girl, he was pretty impressed. Her face was set like a chiseled stone, a mask of solemn confidence. She was in the oldest section of eighteen year olds, so she had age on her side. And then she just kind of looked tough. Maybe it was her expression, or maybe it was that she looked sort of ish athletic, with her blonde hair tied back in a high pony tail.

He tilted his head to the side curiously. Hmmm, maybe she did have a chance after all.

* * *

Zea Bachmeier, 18, District 9

* * *

Zea had never felt more panicked in her life. She had never thought she'd get picked. It wasn't something that ever seemed likely to her. There were just so many names in that bowl, and she never took out any tesserae. This couldn't be happening to her. It was a miracle that her body could move at all. Her heart rate was pounding at the speed of light, and her ears were still ringing with the sound of her name. Zea Bachmeier. The sound echoed a million times in her head, until at some point they held no meaning at all.

She had spent most of her life internalizing her feelings. Not because she ever needed to, but just because it was something that came naturally to her. For once, she was thankful for the ability because despite the paralyzing fear and hysteria that was running through her core, she looked absolutely calm on the outside. She knew she did. Trying unsuccessfully to calm herself down, she focused on that. She had to stay confident. It would help her later on, if she wanted to win this that is, and she had to win. She wasn't ready to die yet.

"Ghram Aintree!"

She hadn't even realized that Larina Tallat had moved onto the next bowl. With some semblance of attentiveness, she saw a young brutish boy with a black buzz cut and a pudgy nose stumble forwards. His mouth was hanging open in shock as a look of disbelief passed over him. Within seconds the shock had turned into terror, and though he made no noises, she knew he was silently screaming.

It was the look in his eyes that triggered it. Out of nowhere, she bolted to the side, heading to nowhere. A look of sheer determination passed over her face as she jumped off the stage. The peacekeepers weren't ready for her when she started running. Usually people ran immediately after their name was called, not once they got to the stage. That was when the complacency started. Unfortunately, though they weren't mentally prepared, their numbers were unfathomable now that every single officer in the huge District was concentrated in the one town. It was only seconds before somebody caught her.

Once she felt them grabbing her, she gave up. As quickly as the need to escape had come, it left. She knew she was defeated. Still, she made them drag her back. She wouldn't let them think for a minute that she wanted this. Now that her composure had fallen once, she knew it was imperitive to at least maintain her confidence. As she repositioned herself back beside Larina Tallat- who was pursing her lips at the failed escapee- she let her mind focus on the one statement.

Stay calm, she told herself. There was no point in breaking down any further. The deed had been done.

Everything was already over.

* * *

**A/N Hey look at me with the quick update. I worked really hard to pump this out because I want these reapings over with ASAP. (That being said if there is some mistakes in here of if the quality isn't the greatest, you'll have to excuse me on that one). But yeah. I like District Nine. I've gotten some good tributes for it. Hopefully I pegged both Zea and Ghram right though. I'm running low on ideas for how to introduce these characters. (I can't write about everyone getting dressed you know), so this chapter was fighting me a bit. Right. As I said in the last chapter, expect a wait for D10, 'cause I'll be sans computer in a few days, and therefore there won't be any updates. Any who**

**Until next time**


	11. District Ten Reaping

Melivora "Ranger" Capen, 17, District 10

* * *

The pen was large enough. The rickety wooden fence wrapped around at least an acre of land, giving the dogs a good amount of space. Perhaps it wasn't exactly a huge rolling field, but it was something. The ranching dogs did just fine in the pen; although, sometimes the guard dogs got a tad irritable. That was only when the pups were no longer pups- when they were big enough to start running into each other. The current batch of them were still relatively small. One or two had started to rub each other's shoulders whilst running, but they hadn't gotten too riled up just yet. For the moment actually, they were relatively calm. The sun was setting on the horizon, and some of the smaller dogs had tired out.

On the far end of the pen, a stiff figure watched the animals vigilantly. Her arms were crossed gruffly as two beady pale blue eyes watched some of the herding dogs wrestle playfully with each other. Her usually ghostly pale skin was caked in a thick earthy mud- the earth was much cheaper than sun screen. When applying the muck, she had avoided getting it on her hair and cloths, but after a long day of work streaks of dirty brown had dried into her white locks and random splatters littered her worn work cloths. The sludge coating she wore made her look like some sort of earth demon, risen to conquer the world.

As the sun relinquished its last ray for the day, the girl started to move from her spot. Hopping down, she began to sulk forwards into the pen. The dogs, being the well-trained servants that they were, rose to their feet without requiring her to even give the command. They raced towards the kennel, shouldering each other as they all tried their best to attain the first spot in line at the door.

"Move," Ranger snapped irritably as she reached over them and pulled the door open. They poured inside, all making a bee line for their food bowls. Only a large brown and white hound was excluded from the rabid rush for dinner. He walked into the building like he was a king before sitting beside the girl's feet, his big brown eyes focused on her face expectantly.

For the first time that day, she cracked a smile.

"Stupid dog," she said affectionately as she scratched it behind its ears, getting dirt on its spotless coat. "You're not special."

Of course, he was special. Palmer was one of the four or five older males that kept up a permanent home at their kennel. The girl had trained him personally from the day he was born, and while he did have his own role fathering countless pups in her step-father's dog-breeding company, there was no arguing the fact that he was hers. Walking over to the industrial sink on the far end of the room, she washed herself off to the best of her ability, scraping the mud off of her skin.

Behind her, a door creaked open, and the sound of a gruff voice filled the air.

"One minute hun, I just need to check up on her. It's the family business. Gotta make sure that the dogs are all right."

"They'd be better off if you kicked her out completely."

"She's good with them."

There was no response after that, only the sound of boots entering the kennel. She hated her mother for talking like that in front of her. If she was going to bad mouth her own daughter, she could at least have the decency of doing it behind her back.

"How were the dogs today?" her step-father, Cane, asked. His tone wasn't friendly, but it wasn't hostile either. To him, this conversation was purely business, as all of their interactions were.

"Swell," Ranger responded curtly, with a bit more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Cane might not mind her, but she resented him. He may not have been the one to kick her out of the house. Arguably, he had even been kind to her when he offered her a straw bed in the dog kennel. The fact remained though that he was one of them. He tolerated, maybe even indulged the whispers of her mother and her community. Not that she hadn't earned their hate, of course, but that was another story.

Cane didn't waste any more time dilly dallying with her. He didn't ask if she needed food- she had been supporting herself with the money she earned watching the dogs for at least two years now- and he didn't pause to tell her that she'd done a good job. He just nodded brusquely at her, and exited the room. He didn't even offer her a friendly goodbye. Her lip curled in distaste the minute his back was turned.

Beside her, Palmer poked his wet nose into her hand. Distracted, she walked over and poured him his food in his special bowl, scratching his ears again. "You think Hadyn will visit tonight?" she asked him with a sigh. Looking out the window at the darkening night, she chewed on her lip. The reaping was tomorrow, and just thinking about it made her stomach trill with nerves. "Yeah, I think he will too," she decided aloud. "He always comes on nights like these."

* * *

Whisper Raleigh, 15, District 10

* * *

District Ten was really a dusty place. It was like a constant mist of little irritable dirt particles just lived in the air. Part of it was because only the rich got to inhabit the grassy areas. All of the impoverished were forced into small plots on land that had been grazed dry by animals years ago. It didn't help that everyone was walking around today though. The constant patter of boots on the ground made the air twice as thick as normal. The hot May sun made conditions almost unbearable that day. The reaping was going to be painful.

Whisper tugged on the collar of his dirty white shirt, trying to fan his face. He was sitting on top of a little clay building, his feet hanging out over the street as he watched the people walk through the dust cloud below. He felt an uncomfortable thin film of sweat permeating on his brow. He would undoubtably be a sight later when the reaping started. His family lived fifteen miles away from Springfield, the town the reaping was held in, and by the time he got there his shirt would definitely be soaked through. At least he wasn't a girl. Sweat stains could look tough on the right guy, but no matter how the dice were rolled, they never helped a girl's image. Last year a fourteen year old that lived even further away from Springfield than he did. By the time her name got picked she looked like she had jumped into a pool. Needless to say, she didn't get that many sponsors based on that.

"Whisper, what cha' doing up here?" someone chirped from behind him.

He turned around quickly, alarmed that his sister, Amary, had found him up here. It was dangerous for her to be following him like this. "Amary, get down from here," he cried, hopping back up onto his feet and skittering over to his sister. She was standing on the top rung of a wooden ladder that dropped down into the house. Her bright blue eyes shone brightly through the cloudy air as she stared at him curiously.

"You're up here though," she said confused.

He frowned gruffly as he pointed down the latter. "Yeah, well I'm leaving. Now get down, and make sure you don't make any noise. Big Lady Belle will be mad if she finds out we were here," he demanded. She pouted at him, but promptly began to descend the ladder back into the house. He scurried after her into the shop that was located below. When they both were back on the main level, he had to steer Amary away from the front door before she exited right out onto the street in broad daylight. He paled thinking that she might have come in that way. Coming to the roof had been a mistake. If the peacekeepers found out about this, they'd surely whip him half to death.

"Why can't we go out that way?" Amary persisted as he took her out the side exit that led into a vacant alley way.

"I told you because we weren't supposed to be in there in the first place," he said.

"But you were there."

"I'm older than you."

The little girl stared at him, clearly quite put off that he was leaving her out of his antics. "That doesn't mean that you can go sit on roof tops and I can't. I know all about all the bad stuff you do. I told daddy all about it too. I bet he's going to be really mad at you later," she declared a little too loudly.

Whisper looked over his shoulder in an frantic panic, praying that nobody had heard her. Before she could say anything else he lunged forward, roughly cupping his hand over her mouth. "Shut up!" he cried.

"What's the matter?" a new voice chimed in.

Whisper must have jumped ten feet high as he spun around, several excuses already pouring out of his mouth. The intruder wasn't a peacekeeper though. Standing in the mouth of the alley way was an athletic blonde girl with an amused smirk on her face. Whisper's shoulder's fell, a sigh of relief escaping him.

Amary's face lit up. "Lyric, Lyric! Whisper does all sorts of bad things. I saw him steal Ms. Carraway's necklace last week," she tattled.

"Amary," Whisper cried out, leaping after the girl.

Lyric snorted. "Did you?" she said with an amused eyebrow raised. Amary nodded eagerly. "Well. I hope you're not going to go tattling on him to anyone now. I'd be pretty disappointed in you if you did." Amary's face fell. Clearly she was looking for a different reaction. "You know, they could do some bad things to Whisper if they found out. And I have a secret to tell you." She beckoned the girl forwards. "Whisper only does that stuff because he loves you. He bought you those candies with the money he made on that necklace." A broad grin stretched across the little girl's face at the last sentence, and she snuck a devilish look at her brother.

"How sweet," Whisper said dryly. "Now Amary go get dad and Weste. We have to go to the reaping."

Amary nodded and ran off to the street, giggling as she went. "She's going to get me arrested," Whisper complained the minute his sister turned the corner.

Lyric laughed. "You're a terrible thief, getting caught by your eight year old sister," she teased.

"She's a menace. I can't help it," he shrugged.

"You just need to hit the right buzz words when you want her to leave you alone. Maybe if you weren't so cold to them they wouldn't bother you so much," Lyric told him.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes. Lyric was always telling him this. 'Be more affectionate Whisper' 'Stop treating them like their pests' 'They just want to hang out with you'. He tried, of course. He honestly did. He loved his family with his whole heart. They were everything to him. He just was never the warmest person in the world.

"Apple?" she offered, pulling a round red fruit from her pocket.

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Lyric, how could you? You their," he snickered as he took it.

"Don't complain. At least I didn't get caught," she grinned. And with that the two started walking back down the alley, heading back towards his house.

* * *

Melivora "Ranger" Capen, 17, District 10

* * *

Ranger's heart squeezed as the door of the Phob family house swung open, revealing a slender young man with ashy brown hair. The boy was a few hairs shorter than she was with bright brown eyes and an infectious smile. He wasn't the most handsome guy in the district. His skin was unnaturally pale, and he almost always looked a tad unsteady on his feet; however, the sight of him still made her heart skip a beat. When he waved at her excitedly, she let out a visible pent-up sigh of relief. She had been so worried when he hadn't shown up last night. She thought that he had finally come to his senses and decided to drop her, like the rest of the district. Clearly that was just false worrying though.

"Hey," she said with a smile as he swayed down the steps, a tad too slowly.

"Hey," Hadyn replied, watching his feet like he might fall. When he reached her, and had finally steadied himself he looked up cheerfully. "I like your dress. It's pretty."

"Are you okay?" she asked, her face wrinkling with worry.

"Um yeah, I'm fine. I twisted my ankle last night that's all," he explained, lifting up his pant leg and showing her a medical compressive sock that was wrapped around his right foot. She pursed her lips as she looked at it. Hadyn had been sickly since the day she had met him. He had gotten over the worst of it a few years ago, although, he was still probably the most accident prone guy in the District. It worried her. She couldn't lose him.

"Oh, well, okay," she said nervously.

He let out a light laugh, and laced his fingers through hers. "I told you to stop worrying. I'm tough, just like my girlfriend," he declared. Then just to prove his point, he stepped boldly forward, and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into a graceful dip and pressing his lips against hers. She squealed in an uncharacteristically girly manner as she melted into him. "See, I'm not so breakable," he breathed.

"Tell that to your ankle," she whispered back.

Then out of nowhere, a high pitched voice called out. "Hey Phob, go take your slut back out to the pig stye where she belongs. Freak!"

A deep embarrassed blush seeped onto her cheeks as she shrunk beside Hadyn. If she were alone, she might have retaliated against the girl in the most horrible of ways, but she wasn't alone. She was with Hadyn, and she had to be better for him. If she remembered correctly, that girl hated her because of a specific incident involving tears, from all involved parties, some pigtails, and a fire. Nobody was really innocent, but she knew what she had done was wrong. She wouldn't hurt the one person who cared about her by regressing back to that point of horrible sin. No matter what she thought that girl deserved, she knew that Hadyn would be proud of her for being the better person.

"Keep your opinions to yourself," Hadyn yelled back hotly, his face twisted into an expression of fury. "Come on Mel, let's get to the reaping."

Mel. Only Hadyn called her that. She liked it when he did that. It made her feel less like a feared pariah and more like a real person. Not that anything was wrong with the name Ranger. That nickname was just as much a part of her as the name Melivora was. She tried to focus on that as the entire District stared daggers into her back as her and Hadyn checked into the reaping.

"I'm going to head over to my section," he told her, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Ranger replied, her face turning hard as stone as she straightened her posture.

"Don't be too fine," he teased. "I might get worried that you don't need me around."

She rolled her eyes. "Just don't fall again on your way over there."

"Me? Fall? Never," he winked as he disappeared into a crowd of people.

She sighed, walking back over to her section. She kept her head held high, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Honestly, there were so many people around, it was hard to keep track of what she did to all of them. Of course, some of them she probably didn't even know. The reason the strangers hated her probably had something to do with the lovely rumors her mother liked to spread about her.

Needless to say, she couldn't wait until she turned eighteen.

Time passed painfully slowly. By the time their exceedingly creepy escort, Cyran Stunners, was reaching his hand into the girl's bowl, she was ready to punch the girl next to her. The reapings were never an easy time for her. Two years ago, a girl named Roan was reaped, dying relatively early in the Games. Ranger had been crushed. Of all the people in the District, Roan and her father were one of the few good people she had met. Friends was maybe a strong word for what they were. Ranger never really had any good friends, other than Hadyn of course. But Roan stood up for her once or twice, and it was little acts of kindness like those that meant the world to her.

"Melivora Capen," Cyran called.

Ranger froze, feeling completely and utterly taken off guard. A strangled cry arose from the male's section, undoubtedly belonging to Hadyn as she took an unsteady step forwards. She felt incredibly empty as she pushed towards the stage. Her peers jostled her as she went, bumping into her shoulders and such. She didn't let them see her show fear though. A million thoughts buzzed through her mind, many of them focused on Roan Ardennes, the girl who lost her life to these horrid Games.

Then her mind flew to Hadyn. Would he hate her if she won? She knew she'd be a murderer by the time all was said and done. Could he live with that? As she stepped on the stage, her eyes raced around the sea of faces, finally stumbling onto the wailing boy. His face looked completely devastated. Two other boys were holding him back, as if he had tried to come after her.

With that one look, her mind was made up. She would be coming home, and she would do anything to do it. Blood was a meaningless word to her now. All that was left was victory.

* * *

Whisper Raleigh, 15, District 10

* * *

Whisper watched the Melivorn girl walk solemnly up to the stage as some of the Springfield folks glared at her. Apparently she wasn't that well liked. He didn't really care that much though. What was important was that Lyric was safe for another year. Anyways, even if nobody liked the girl, she looked very tough. He wouldn't want to mess with her. Maybe she could do well. His eyes glanced over to the area where all the District Ten victors were seated. They had four of them throughout the history of the Games, although their oldest one, Cora, had died a couple years back, leaving them with only three left. If he remembered right, Madison Fey, the only victor that they had during his life time, hadn't cried. So at least this girl was sort of on the right track.

He sighed. Who was he kidding. The girl was doomed.

Cyran Stunners licked his lips as he dipped his talons into the male bowl.

"Whisper Raleigh!"

Whisper felt his heart stop. What was he just thinking about the other girl? She was doomed? Now he was doomed too. Almost immediately he felt his breath coming in short gasps. His mind flew to his family. They had been financially devastated when his mother died. His father already worked four jobs. the little money he made through his thievery kept them afloat. They were going to starve without him. They were going to starve and die and he'd be to blame.

The pressure of just thinking about it all was too much.

In the back of his mind, a little nagging thought told him he should be moving forwards, walking onto the stage confidently, just like the female tribute. He couldn't do it though. He felt suddenly light-headed. This was too much for him. Underneath him, his legs turned to jelly as his vision began to spot.

And with that, he passed out in front of all of Panem.

* * *

**A/N I warned you that it would be a long update did I not? But here's District Ten. Hope you liked them. If there's any errors, (or if you know, Whisper's last section was a little short) it's because I was rushing to get this chapter out before a week and a half long wait turned into a three week long wait. That would have been bad. But you know, my computer time has been limited recently. I've been limited to just my ipod, and that's not really conducive to writing.**

**On the bright side, I can make blogs on my iPod. So with some of my free time, I made one with all the past victors on it. So go check it out. If you check the Finding to Light blog, you'll see that I added who each tribute's mentor will be, so you can sort of see a brief profile of all the mentors now. (If you submitted a mentor on your form, and you don't see them on my blog, I might have just changed their name. I wanted to keep all the names to par with my head-cannon as to what each District's names would sound like. It'd be weird if say District Nine's names were like Flax, Barley, Billy Bob, Rye. Don't worry though, they'll have the same personality as the one you gave me in the form.)**

**The link to the blog is on my profile page if you want something that you can just click, but the url is here:**

**victorshall. blogspot. com**


	12. District Eleven Reaping

Cree Ophelia, 18, District 11

* * *

Cree sat at the office desk in the foyer of her home, watching the clock with impatience. A high tech monitor rested in front of her with a microscopic lens implanted in the top border. The screen was on with a small blue bar blinking in the center as it awaited the connection. With an impatient sigh, she examined her manicure, blowing on her wet pink nails. She would probably be the only girl at the reaping later who had make-up and nail polish on. The people here were obnoxiously crude.

Suddenly, the screen in flickered to life, and an image of a very posh girl with striking red hair and glowing green eyes appeared before her. The girl was also sitting in some sort of office room. Behind her though, a sliver of a window gave a small glimpse into the outside world, revealing a thick forest. Cree smiled at her, waving to the girl through the monitor.

"Hey Paulina, how was your reaping?" she asked happily. They had planned the timing of their video chat carefully. All reapings started promptly at two o' clock; however, due to the time differences between the various Districts, they didn't occur simultaneously. Cree kind of liked the way things had panned out, with her friend being two hours ahead of her. This way she could get a sneak preview into the upcoming Games before they aired the official reaping tape.

"Two of the peasants got picked," she shrugged. "The boy was lanky, like obviously he didn't have any muscle from working out in the woods. The girl looked kind of tough, but I don't think she'll win. I mean maybe she will, but I just have this feeling. These people are just so... weak? I think that's a good word for it."

"What? You aren't loving your dad's new assignment?" Cree asked smirking.

Paulina scoffed. "It's awful here. I couldn't believe people actually lived like this when I first showed up. I miss home," she complained.

"Me too," Cree sighed, resting her cheek in her hand. "I can guarantee you Eleven is worse than Seven though. The people here are awful. Do you know what happened yesterday? I was walking to school on the main road, when one of those dirty kids came up and tore my bracelet off my arm and ran off."

"Did your dad get the kid?" Paulina asked. Her eyebrows were raised dramatically at the shock of Cree's adversities.

"No. There's so many of the little rats running around, you can't tell any of them apart," she responded.

"You're right. Eleven is much worse than Seven," Paulina nodded. "Although, Seven still kind of sucks."

"I miss District One."

"Me too."

"Who do you think got picked this year from the Academy?" Cree asked.

Her thoughts wandered back to her childhood, before her father's job moved them across the entire country, trapping her in this dirt hole. She still hadn't completely forgiven the man for the move. Stupid peacekeeper job. She missed District One, the place she was born, her home. It was better now that Paulina had moved too though. The two had been best friends since they were five. Her mother was a peacekeeper as well, so at least when Cree had relocated, the two could stay in touch via the peacekeeper video wire. Beforehand though, there had always been a hard bitter edge of jealousy present in their conversations because Paulina was living the dream life back at home with the civilized portion of Panem. Now that her friend was experiencing the horrors of the outer District maggots, she felt like the two of them were on more equal footing.

"Mmmm, maybe Scarlett and Obsidian? Or Sapphire was a good fighter too. Oh, and I think Price Royal's grandson is seventeen this year. I forget his name, but he's a shoe in for tribute next year if they don't chose him to volunteer for this year's Games," Paulina rambled.

Cree nodded, sighing at the thought of her old friends. She used train at the academy way back when. It was what all the "in" kids did, whether they had hopes of entering the Games or not. The sound the names of old friend's made her feel nostalgic. "I bet it's Obsidian and Sapphire," Cree predicted.

"Watch as its somebody neither of us know," Paulina smirked.

"Whoever it is I hope they win. It'd be nice to see a friend on the Victory Tour this year," Cree said. Suddenly, the sound of a beeping watch interrupted their conversation, and Cree stood unwillingly to her feet. "The reaping's in fifteen minutes. I've got to go."

"Don't get picked," Paulina joked.

Cree laughed as she turned off the monitor. The very idea of her getting chosen was comical. Was her name even in the bowl. It used to be during the one reaping she had in District One, but then she moved here to District Eleven. For all she knew her slips were off in District Two where her father was from. She wouldn't be surprised if the census people thought that's where she belonged. Her parents gave her a very trendy Two name after all. Whatever, it didn't matter. It's not like she was going to be picked anyway.

* * *

Damien Crest, 17, District 11

* * *

"Careful Damien, there's a root by your foot," Finch warned as he tightened his grip on his cousin's arm. Damien smirked, well at least he smirked inwardly. On the outside his expression was much closer to a kind thankful smile. It was the humorous feeling of secret trickery that made him feel like he was smirking.

Humans were really the stupidest species in existence. Maybe stupid wasn't a good way to describe it. People were just gullible really- an adjective that was a close relative of stupid. Of course, there were always exceptions, like himself. He was neither gullible nor stupid. If he was, he wouldn't be so good at manipulating his world. Stupid people didn't know how to make people scurry like rats just with one simple frown.

"It's okay, I've taken this path before. I think I remember," Damien said, making sure to sound unsure of himself.

"Well just be careful," Finch muttered.

Damien found himself containing that smirk again. See, his Uncle had told Finch to watch out for Damien that day. If his cousin failed in his duties, he'd be in some deep trouble. That meant that if Damien played things right, Finch would be putty in his hands. The best part was that Finch didn't even know that he was getting played for a fool. Nobody did. Not even his parents were aware that their son's entire life was a complete and utter lie.

What is this ginormous falsehood you might ask?

Why that he was incurably blind of course.

Damien remembered the day of the accident like it happen just last week. He had been sitting on the roof top, watching the street below as he always did, whilst silently contemplating how he would be able to get Thorn, another boy from school, to give him his handmade beat drum. He had been intensely jealous of the other boy's instrument the minute he saw him playing with it in the yard, and he knew that he just needed it to be his.

It just so happened that two weeks prior another girl in his grade had tripped and broken her leg. His peers had all gone out of their way to give her get well gifts and such, and thinking on this, the idea just came to him. It took another week of careful planning before he put the plan into action. He needed to place the chess pieces exactly right on the board before he did anything too impulsive. When he had finished preparing though, he returned to his roof top, braced himself, and jumped.

The impact hadn't been too terrible. His ankle didn't take the fall well and he scraped his knee pretty badly, but that was all. He had set things up though so that the scene would look much worse than it was. He smeared some of the blood from his knee across his eyes, making it seem like they had been injured also. Then earlier he had made a point to set up a lemonade stand right under his spot on the roof, as if he were planning on charitably giving to his community later that day. He spread some blood onto that stand as well.

Then he screamed.

When his parents came, he played up the agony, not allowing them to touch him to examine his wounds. When the doctors came, he insisted that his parents left the room. Once alone, he dropped his tortured facade, and pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket. They declared him blind that day, with no hope of future recovery. His parents had been devastated. In the beginning he felt guilty about it, but in the end he got his drums and so much more. People were sympathetic towards blind boys. He got whatever he wanted. Some of the popular poor kids suddenly started hanging out for him because despite his superior financial situation, he was suddenly more pitiful than them. His parents started spoiling him more so than when he was healthy. He never had to do anything for himself anymore. All he had to do was mention a need, and somebody would fix it for him.

Like he said, they were all putty in his hands, and that was the way he liked it.

* * *

Cree Ophelia, 18, District 11

* * *

Cree looked around the massive hoard of grungy children around her in disgust. Thank god this would be the last year her father forced her here. After this day, she would be able to enjoy the Hunger Games from the safety of her clean, mongrel-less house. Standing amongst the youth of District Eleven was just one huge reminder of why she hated it here. She could practically smell the fertilizer in the air as if it had permeated in their cloths.

"Oh, hi Cree," a girl smiled to her as she nervously made her way to an empty spot beside her. Cree recognized the girl from school, though she had never bothered to learn her name. The fact that she was still at school though at the age of eighteen told her that this girl wasn't completely destitute. That didn't change the fact that her face was boney from slight malnutrition, or that her dress was simply hideous.

Cree wrinkled her nose. "Hi," she said.

"Um. Last year here. That's sort of nice right?" the girl went on. Cree wished the girl would disappear, but clearly she was trying to make conversation. She looked kind of nervous actually. That was one of the things that Cree hated the most about her new home. The attitude towards the Games here was morbid. It was no fun when they didn't participate in the festivities. Back in District One there were parties, betting games, and pep rallies during the month of the Games. Here people just looked more depressed than normal.

"Oh yeah, it's great," she mumbled, hoping the girl would get a clue.

Thankfully she did, as she turned her attention up to the stage where the mayor was talking. Cree searched the crowd for her dad while he talked, just because it was something to do. He was standing at the foot of the stage, looking business like, next to Silver Hawkings, one of his co-workers. It was nothing unusual.

Finally up on stage, the microphone was passed over to Lewar Constantine, their escort. He was currently committing a criminal offense as far as his outfit was concerned. Mold yellow suits should never be paired with muddy brown tweed pants. She wasn't even sure what angle he was going for with his bright rust colored hair. Capitolites could certainly be odd.

"Another year, more tributes," he said excitedly as he reached into the reaping bowl, carefully selecting a slip. "Cree Ophelia."

Cree's eyebrows shot up in shock and amazement. Well, this was certainly odd. She supposed that her name was in the bowl after all. It had been a long time since she had thought about the possibilities of her entering the Games. Back then she was thinking along the lines of Volunteering, a viciously trained District One career though, not an unprepared representative of this trash. She wasn't sure whether to be happy for the opportunity or devastated because technically she was just sentenced to almost certain death. Her gut eventually settled at medium between the two extremes as a light nervousness danced around in her stomach.

She walked up to the stage confidently. She supposed that she was at least more prepared for this than the rest of the kids here. Let them all cling to their pitiful lives if they wanted to. She had no intention of dying tomorrow.

* * *

Damien Crest, 17, District 11

* * *

Damien elbowed Finch lightly, and pointed towards the stage. "Is that the peacekeeper's daughter?" he asked curiously.

"Yup. I told you about her remember?" he replied in a hushed voice. Damien nodded, as he settled his eyes absently somewhere on the podium. This was one of the drawbacks to faking blindness. He could never focus his vision on anything. If ever he wanted to see someone it would have to be out of his purposely blurred peripheries. He would have to wait until later when he watched the television in his room alone to get a good look at this girl. He liked to know who was in the Games every year. Every time somebody died as a tribute it meant there was one less person he could take advantage of after all. He'd been lucky though. Nobody he knew had ever been reaped. Usually the field kids got chosen as they dominated most of the population. Damien lived in one of the District's towns, so while there were plenty of poor kids around, there were less than in the areas immediately around the orchards.

He did know Cree though. She was in the grade above him in his school. He didn't know her well though. She seemed quite stuck up honestly, staying away from most of the other kids. He just never had a chance to interact with her.

"Alright onto the boys," Lewar went on. "Damien Crest."

A choked gurgle escaped Damien's throat as he reached out and grabbed Finch's shoulder for fear of falling over. God he was going to die. The fear sudden fear that gripped his entire being was so incredibly uncontrollable. He knew his chances were bad. The tears that started to drip slowly down his cheeks were only natural.

Beside him, he heard Finch shouting. "He's blind," his cousin cried out. "You need to help him up there." Hushed whispers of pity echoed throughout the crowd.

...Blind. Suddenly, a surge of foolish hope began growing in his heart. He was supposed to be blind. It was brilliant actually. His secret would be his greatest weapon in the arena. They would underestimate him, and that would be his chance. He could only pray that the other tribute's natural human folly worked to his advantage.

The peacekeepers were by his side then, taking his hand gently and leading him forwards. Even they were staring at him like he was dead, empathetic looks in their eyes. Swallowing hard, he faced his District, trying to calm himself down.

Nothing has changed he told himself. He was still a master of manipulation. He would win, and nobody would see it coming.

* * *

**A/N Yeah, this chapter is pretty bad. But hey, it's only been a day since my last update. Normally I'd take a few extra days to get a decent chapter out, but honestly, I'm tired of reapings, and we're so close to being done, I was just like 'what the hey, let's just get it over with'. If I ever do another SYOT, I'm remixing the entire reaping concept because there's no way I'll survive another twelve chapters of reapings. With some luck though, I'll get D12 out to you quickly(although that chapter is liable to be even worse than this one sorry to the creators of these last four tributes), and then we can move on to train rides (which I love). **

**Any who, that's Damien and Cree, your resident District Eleven tributes. You're probably wondering why I accepted both Airin (the blind kid) and Damien (the fake blind kid). My answer is because they're going to have some great fun together in the Capitol and I couldn't resist. I'm very excited about it. And of course, I loved Cree as well. I like the whole idea of a peacekeeper's kid. It was a nice change of pace from your average outer district tribute. **

**Alright I'm done rambling for now. **

**Until next time**


	13. District Twelve Reaping

Burnet Stevens, 15, District Twelve

* * *

In the sky above, the clouds began to lighten. It had been raining non-stop all morning, covering the entire District in what seemed like perpetual wetness. That didn't stop the boys from getting outside though. With their shirts thrown onto the muddy earth they fought roughly for a leather for hours. With grins on their faces they wrestled, each trying to elbow the ball free and throw it into a ring of sticks they had set up earlier.

Burnet joined the group about half way through the game, but somehow despite the fact that he had been playing for a shorter span of time, he still was the dirtiest amongst the six boys. His black hair was sopping with mud, and his chest was glistening with sweat and rain. HIs already worn shorts were starting to fray at the edges, making him look almost barbaric. He wore the grime with pride though. He always said that the dirtiest player was trying the hardest.

Now that the rain had cleared, they knew the reaping would be starting soon though. They had to finish their game up soon so that they weren't covered in a layer of mud and sweat.

"Alright tiebreaker point here," Robin declared, dropping their ball into the center ring. "We go one on one. Each team's got to pick their best guy."

The other boys nodded, and Burnet circled around with his teammates, Lance and Clay. He was breathing heavy from exertion, and his stomach was growling, although, there wasn't really anything abnormal about that. Looking at the other two boys though, he thought it was pretty obvious that he was in the best shape. Whilst he may be worn out, at least he wasn't wheezing like Lance was.

With a devilish grin he thumped his chest. "I got this," he declared dramatically.

"You sure? Brock hit you pretty hard last round?" Clay checked nervously. "I mean, I could do it too, if you wanted."

"IS that doubt that I hear?" Burnet raised an eyebrow. "Because you know nobody's better at wolly ball than I am."

Clay rolled his eyes, but didn't interfere. Burnet turned back to the other team, and raised his hand. "I'm going," he told them.

The other three boys nodded, the one in the middle stepping forwards. "Aw you guys are making this too easy for me," he bragged as he took his hand and wiped his shaggy black hair out of his face. Burnet grinned. He would be facing Asher. His best friend was never one to step out of the spot light.

The two boys stepped forwards, each one putting a hand on one side of the ball. Robin stood on the side lines with his hand up in the air. In one strong chop, he let it fall, signalling the beginning of the face off. Burnet lunged forwards, making sure he made the first move. With all his might he smacked his chest into Asher's, sending both of them backwards into the mud. With a surprised yelp, Asher landed on his back, locking his arms around Burnet's shoulder's as he did so. The momentum and odd grip that the fallen boy had on Burnet, sent him flying over Asher's head, landing with a spat in the mud.

Asher immediately dove for the ball, scooping it up in his arm and struggling to get back up to his feet. Burnet recovered before Asher got too far towards his goal, and he using the wet and muddy ground like a slide, he dove forward, knocking Asher's ankles out from under him. Again Burnet got on top of Asher, trying to dig the ball out of his grasp. The match was quickly turning into a test of strength as opposed to skill: Who would be able to wrench the ball out from the other's grasp first? His team would be declared victorious.

Unfortunately for Asher, Burnet was a head taller than him. Brock was the strongest player on the other team, but had decided to sit this round out as he had participated in the last one. It would be their downfall. After a solid twenty seconds of tugging, Burnet ripped the ball free, scooping it up in his arms. Knowing he wouldn't be able to run it to his goal, he carefully rolled it through the mud and into their ring.

Throwing his fists into the air he laughed. "Victorious!" he bragged gleefully. "Geez Asher, I thought you were going to blow me out of the water eh?"

"Shut up," Asher retorted grumpily.

Burnet laughed, gently punching his friend in the arm. "That's what you get for not eating your grain meal," he teased.

"Uh huh, keep telling yourself that. I was just going easy on you. Next time, you're going to get it," Asher said.

"Really, just like I got it right there?" Burnet raised his eyebrow. Just then the other four boys engulfed them, Lance and Clay with grins on their faces while Brock and Robin shot Asher dirty looks. "S'okay boys. You can't blame him. He was going up against the titan, the king, the invincible Stevens. He had no hope."

"Invincible? Didn't I just pummel you ten minutes ago," Brock said, flexing his biceps proudly.

"Actually, I think you have a losing record. You're 12 and 13 if I remember correctly," Robin pointed out.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Burnet shot back, looking around and whistling absently. The other boys laughed easily as they picked up their soaked shirts and began walking back towards their homes.

If any of them were worried about the reaping later that day, none showed it. Perhaps Burnet wasn't joking when he declared himself invincible.

* * *

Cutter Wryer, 14, District 12

* * *

The Hob was always unnaturally busy on reaping day. With all the other shops closed, everyone rich and poor only had one place to shop for their emergency commodities. Even people who didn't normally partake in suspicious activities could occasionally be found walking around on reaping day. For instance, Gray, the minor supervisor swore that meat only tasted good when eaten on the same day as the kill. With the butcher's shut down though, he could annually be found bartering for fresh squirrel or wild turkey along with many other unlikely shoppers.

Of course, Cutter couldn't say that she only visited the Hob when no other options were available. Her visit today was part of her weekly routine actually, only this time she had company. Her father, walking with a hunched over shadow, accompanied her through the crowded abandoned storage house. His hand was placed tightly on her shoulder as he steered her directly to Ripper, ignoring all other commotion.

The one-armed woman's station looked unusually empty without District Twelve's one remaining victor, Haymitch Abernathy, and the head peacekeeper Cray sitting at her bar. Still, her face lit with a sad smile when her eye caught Cutter's. Even Ripper preferred it when Cutter came to her alone.

"Morning Gibbon," Ripper said, addressing her father. "How's reaping day treating ya?"

"Fine," Gibbon replied gruffly. "I need three bottles."

Cutter rolled her eyes. The man wasn't always so rude. It was only because he was sober. When he was drunk, he was usually cheery and friendly. Of course he could be a bit crude as he tended to lose any sort of filter with the alcohol clouding his thoughts, but Cutter liked him better that way. The unruliness was infinitely better than the downright cruel demeanor that he took up when he was sober.

He never did get over her mother's death.

"Daddy?" she said, making sure her voice was coated with girly sugar. His hateful glare wheeled around, focusing on her with uncomfortable intensity. She knew the buzz words though. At the very least, her father was a predictable person. "Do you need help carrying those?"

"Oh," he muttered looking at the three bottles for a minute. "No. No you can't carry these. Stupid girl. You're just fourteen."

Cutter nodded. "Oh... Well at least I can be out here with you. I saw Tabatha stuck outside because her mom doesn't like her in here."

"Well maybe I think it'd be better with you out there too," he said moodily. "Now scram."

Cutter ran off before he could contradict himself. She was getting better at manipulating him by the day. That was all too easy for her, really. Of course, he wasn't exactly the most stable person. She wondered how much of the past six years he actually remembered with him being constantly drunk all the time. Reaping day was the only day of the year that he chose to sober up, though she didn't know exactly why. Thus with him only being haze free for twenty four hours a year, it wasn't all that hard to lead him on. Other people weren't as easy; although, the older she got, the more she understood the kind of things that made people tick.

Still, she didn't consider herself manipulative. She's seen the true manipulators on television plotting against their own alliance in the Hunger Games. She simply recognized that sometimes people listened better when they weren't asked things directly.

Stepping outside, Cutter searched the dirt path for her best friend Tabatha. The girl was sitting against a wall, looking very bored. Cutter didn't blame her either. Her mother was a morphling dealer in the Hob, and so whenever Tabatha had free time, she forced the girl to come to work with her. And when you didn't have any money, the Hob was a very boring place.

"Hey," Cutter called out, waving her hand.

Tabatha looked up, a grin stretching on her face. "Hey!" she cried out, running over to Cutter. "Oh my gosh, I'm so happy your here. I swear I was ready to shoot myself I was so bored..." The babble continued, and Cutter couldn't help but smile to herself. Sliding down against the wall with her friend, she got comfortable. Between waiting for her father to finish up in the Hob and the reaping later that day, the next couple hours were going to take an eternity.

* * *

Burnet Stevens, 15, District 12

* * *

Burnet was in an exceptionally good mood as he waited in the check in line beside Asher. His hands were slung carelessly in his pockets as he surveyed the depressed crowd. He probably should be wearing the same kicked puppy look as the rest of them, but it just didn't feel right. For once, he felt it in his gut- he and the rest of his friends were going to be safe this year. He just knew it.

"Hey Asher. What do you get when you mix Effie Trinket with Haymitch Abernathy?" he asked with a sly grin.

"What?" Asher asked, already rolling his eyes.

"Your mom," Burnet snickered. Asher didn't even bother responding as he let out a deep sigh. If his mother ever knew the amount of off-color jokes Burnet made about her, she'd keel over and die. Suddenly though, thoughts of his mother were gone from the boy's mind, and he elbowed Burnet and pointed. A girl with long blonde hair and dark tanned seam coloring was walking towards them.

"Hey guys," Ember said as she joined them in line. "I looked for you this morning, but your parents said you were out."

"We were playing wolly ball with some of the guys from school. And you know, girls don't like that kind of stuff," Burnet explained, brushing off the issue. Ember shot him a dirty look, though he wasn't quite sure why. He was used to it by now though. At school, Asher, Ember, and he were almost inseparable. Of course, there were times when Ember couldn't be included, as they were doing boy stuff, but still, she and Asher were like siblings to him. Except he liked them both better than his sister Brooke.

Just then, they reached the check in station, and the peacekeepers behind the desk made quick work of their fingers. The two boys said a brief goodbye to Ember, promising to meet up with her later to make up for their absence that morning, and headed over to their section. They were early, unfortunately, and so they still had another fifteen to twenty minutes to wait before things got underway.

Up on stage, Haymitch Abernathy hadn't even arrived yet. Burnet Howett, District Twelve's first victor- the man who young Burnet suspected he was named after- had died over the past year from lung cancer, and apparently Haymitch hadn't taken it well. Their lone victor's drinking problem had been progressively getting worse now that he was on his own. Burnet felt pretty bad for whoever he was mentoring this year.

"Think we'll have a chance this year?" Asher asked absently.

"You have a better chance of getting laid than we do of winning the Hunger Games," Burnet responded. "And we both know that's not happening."

"So you say," Asher muttered mischievously.

The two boys joked around for a little while longer before Mayor Undersee finally took the microphone, giving his normal speech. Before Burnet knew it, Effie Trinket was talking.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," she trilled as she reached into the girl's ball. "Cutter Wryer."

Burnet craned his neck towards the girl's section. He knew Cutter, sort of, from around school. Her father was the second most well-known drunk in the town, right next to Haymitch. Some of the kids in his grade used to tease her about it, but they didn't anymore. The girl knew how to stand up for herself, he gave her that much. From the other end of the town square, Burnet found her. The girl had a wicked smile on her face as she skipped up willingly to the stage. The expression on her face was rather unnerving, like she was too confident of her self. Once standing up there beside Effie, she shot at toothy grin, waving like the adorable child she was.

Then she promptly raised her second hand up, and gave the entire world the finger.

Burnet grinned, trying to contain his laughter. Maybe she could win. Sure she was a little young, but Finnick Odair won last year, and he was only fourteen too. He hoped that she would because after watching her diss the Capitol like that, he knew that he liked her.

* * *

Cutter Wryer, 14, District 12

* * *

Cutter was fuming on the inside as she lowered her hands and retracted into a state of apparent politeness. Effie Trinket meanwhile was fumbling to get to the male's bowl, clearly very embarrassed about Cutter's display. She didn't care though. Screw the Capitol.

She never had an easy life. Her father being who he was, and her mother dying years ago in that mining accident, she maybe had to grow up a little quickly. That didn't change the fact that she liked her life though. District Twelve was her home, where she belonged. Who gave the Capitol the right to take that from her? She certainly never gave them the permission to do it. Maybe she should have expected it too. She wasn't exactly sort on tesserae. It was her life though, and she wasn't ready to give it up.

It went without saying that she planned on winning. She might not have much to come home to- just Tabatha and her drunk dad- but she valued herself very much. That would be enough motivation to last her the rest of her life, however short that might be.

"B-burnet Stevens."

Oh. She hadn't even noticed that Effie had picked the boy's slip. Looking up, Cutter found Burnet. He was a year older than her, though she didn't know much else about him. His face was easier to find as it stuck out in a crowd of seam kids. He walked to the stage slowly, his face looking absolutely dejected and betrayed as if he never considered it a possibility to be reaped. Cutter had thought about it a few times over the years, though she couldn't say she had been prepared for this. Nobody really could be.

As he walked, a few of the guys gave him sympathetic pats on the back. He avoided all eye-contact though, keeping his eyes pinned on his feet. He didn't even look up at the cameras when he arrived on stage.

"Y-your tributes District Twelve," Effie announced,waving her hand towards them. Her eye was twitching as she was clearly still flustered.

Good, Cutter thought. She hoped they all were flustered beyond recovery. Did you see that President Snow, she wanted to scream. That was for you.

* * *

**A/N NO MORE REAPINGS. Hallelujah. This chapter was much better than I anticipated it being. I'm semi-satisfied with it. I guess I liked incorporating some of the cannon characters in with Cutter and Burnet, it twisted things up a bit. **

**So now you've met everybody. First off, we'll start with the fact that I've just put up a poll on my profile page. I want to know who's your favorite three tributes. Be very biased with the other tributes, but please don't vote for your own. This is purely based on who you like the best just in general. I'll do another poll on who you think will win later. Don't worry, it won't effect any of the decisions because I've already picked out who the victor is, and how everyone dies. This is more to just fill my own curiosity as to who's popular. So please do vote. Even if your not comfortable with reveiwing (which I get) voting is completly anonymous and i would really appreciate hearing your opinion (even if I dont know its yours) It's a blind poll so you won't be able to access the results right away, but I'll post the winners in the next chapter. **

**On that note, if you want to explain to me in a review who your favorite is, and why, that'd be great too.**

**The next chapter will be a train ride. I do six districts per chapter as far as trains go, and I'm thinking about maybe doing the odd districts first, then the even ones, as opposed to doing the districts in order because that's how I did the reapings. You'll know my final decision when I post them though. Expect a long wait until the next update. I'm going to be sans computer for a little while again. **

**Any who, that was a long authors note, **

**Until next time.**


	14. Train Rides Part One

District One:

Rubin Royal (17) and Porcelain Braavos (17)

* * *

Then noise outside was defining. Porcelain had to be personally escorted by three peacekeepers through the mob of cheering citizens to get on the train. People were screaming in all directions. Some simply wanted her to look their way so that they might get a quality photograph. Others begged her for her autograph as regardless whether she won or not, her signature would be a hot commodity soon. She bore the burden of fame well for someone who wasn't used to it. Half of her was thrilled to be getting the attention. The other half wanted to strangle these strangers in a violent flash of annoyance. It was different at the academy when she knew those who were doting on her. It made her feel powerful to have people who were once her equals worshiping her. This new type of celebrity was obnoxious though. She didn't know what made these people tick, nor did she care really. It took all the fun out of things.

Walking onto the train, she couldn't help but feel a wave of relief to be away from it all, if only briefly. Whoever invented sound proof train walls should be crowned a saint.

Shutting the door behind her, Porcelain took a moment to just take in her new surroundings. The train was nothing if not breath taking. From the curtains on the windows to the trim on the coach, everything was made of the most expensive material. The latest trends showcased themselves elegantly throughout the space, showing the more recent turn for a more traditional feel. Perhaps regal would be a good word for it. Needless to say, when Porcelain entered the room she most certainly felt... cozy.

Of course, she was not alone in the room. Sitting on the coach with his legs resting up on one of the arms was none other than Rubin Royal, her new District partner. He had been staring at the television absently for quite some time as his goodbye's had gone much quicker- Porcelain's father had been slightly late to the justice building. When he saw her enter though, he immediately jumped to his feet. The two teenagers had never spoken much, but he planned on making up for lost time. After all, it was of up most importance to Rubin that he take charge of the careers. His leadership would start here and now with his District partner.

"Porcelain right?" he asked smiling and holding out his hand politely. "I'm Rubin."

Porcelain gave the boy an odd look. She quite frankly didn't want to deal with Rubin just yet. He had never interested her much. He was just too secure with himself to make any of her meddling worth her while. All the same, she couldn't drop her facade now. Forcing the look from her face, she strained her muscles into a smile.

"I do hope you know we've met honey," she said, taking his hand.

"Well of course we have, but we've never really met properly. I wanted to get off on the right foot, you know. I'm assuming you're going to be in the career alliance, so we'll be spending a lot of time together," Rubin nodded with a small smile.

"Oh, well that's very sweet of you," Porcelain said. She thought for a moment before adding, "This is good. We're both going to need somebody who we can trust later on." There, hopefully that would be enough. She knew that she would need Rubin's blind trust once the Games started. He seemed like he would be taking control later with the other careers. It most certainly wouldn't hurt to keep the pack leader within her reach.

Rubin grinned enthusiastically, completely thrilled that the conversation was going so well. After his talk with Glint, he had been worried that Porcelain was going to be trouble. She didn't seem very threatening though. In fact, she was pretty nice. This was going to be good for the both of them.

"So, do you know who your mentor's going to be yet," Rubin asked, taking a seat back on the coach. Porcelain daintily walked over and sat herself down in a chair that was a decent distance away from Rubin, hoping that later she'd be able to get some peace there.

"I believe they've given me Cashmere," Porcelain replied. She batted her eyelids innocently, as if she had no hand in the decision. In reality she personally requested District One's golden girl. Cashmere basically flirted her way to victory in her year. The three career boys were drooling over her the entire time. Porcelain wanted somebody like that bartering for her sponsors- someone manipulative.

"When I started training, I always thought my grandfather would be my mentor. You know that Price Royal was my grandad right? I guess that's not how the story's going to go though huh," Rubin sighed. "I think I've got Ritz by the way."

"How sad," Porcelain muttered. Oh, she hoped he wouldn't be bringing that up all the time. If it was just this once, then fine, but if he waved his grandfather's victory in front of all of the other's noses for the next week, she just might have to slit his throat herself. It wasn't like it was one of his parents that won anyways... That's right, neither of his parents had won, but his father had tried. She hadn't remembered. His dad had died in one of the past Games, the year that woman Paylor had won from Eight.

Porcelain smiled to herself and started humming a light tune. She'd never thought that Hunger Games History lessons would ever come in handy. Storing that tid bit of information in the back of her brain. She would be sure to use it later.

* * *

District Three:

Avell Watts (12) and Auden Eneis (15)

* * *

Auden twiddled her thumbs nervously as she sat on the couch, her eyes flickering between the television and her District partner. They were showing the reaping recaps, though she wasn't paying much attention to them- she'd have plenty of time to worry about her competition later. For now her mind was completely focused on Avell. The boy was sitting on a chair completely engrossed with the television. His dark eyes were completely serious as he stared at each face and listened to the commentary. Every now and then he'd bite his lip and tilt his head curiously like he was thinking hard.

She wanted to talk to him.

Clearly he wasn't a normal kid. Most twelve year olds flip out when they're chosen, but Avell had grinned. At first she had been thoroughly creeped out by it. Was he crazy? For whatever reason the Games always seemed to have their token insane tribute. He didn't seem crazy though. Ever since he had gotten on the train, he just seemed young to her. Something about the way his eyes bulged at seeing the finery on the train just made her feel connected to the kid. Not that she could ever say she was good at reading people.

Still, she knew that she needed an alliance, or at least she wanted one. Her gut twisted when she thought of what she had to offer, her mind jumping quickly to her intellect. No, she wouldn't use that as a bargaining chip. If she had it her way, she would keep Panem in the dark about her IQ of 137. They would just think she was weird. Taking a deep breath, she sat forwards in her seat. He was younger than her, just a kid really. He was probably alone and scared and just as in need of companionship as she was. It wasn't like he had all that many options anyway. He couldn't say no. She knew he couldn't.

"Um hi," she mumbled weakly. Immediately she regretted speaking. Avell jumped a bit, his eyes moving from the television than back over to her as he pulled himself out of his deep strain of thought. Auden bit her lip. It was too late to turn back now.

"Sup?" Avell asked, his eyes scanning her curiously. A faint smirk inched upwards on the corner of his mouth, like she had amused him.

"H-how are you?" Auden asked. Ellysia always told her to start a conversation by checking up on someone. It made them think you were considerate, and it could become a good conversation started should they answer in the negative. It could lead to a new friendship.

"I'm just fine," Avell said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the coffee table like he owned the place. He watched her carefully, evaluating her. He hadn't been paying attention to his District partner since he had entered the train. He had been too busy watching the reapings. The career pack looked strong this year, save the blind kid who was probably going to get rejected from the group all together, knowing their standards. It presented a challenge to Avell. He needed to find their weak points, and even some little mannerism during the reaping could be the key to his victory.

"Really," Auden mumbled. She wasn't sure what to say now. She had to become his friend, but she was so used to socializing whilst Ellysia was right next to her, feeding her cues on what she was doing right and wrong. Now she was on her own and she felt lost. Avell looked at her for another moment before returning his eyes to the television screen. He had seen enough to get a good read on his District partner. She seemed kind of awkward, but friendly enough. She definitely wasn't victor material though. That was all he needed to know really.

Seeing that she was losing him, Auden felt a panicked feeling rise in her chest. She needed this so badly. "Want to be my ally," she squeaked. Her face turned bright red. That hadn't come out right. She said it too fast, like she was hiccuping out a sentence in one quick breath.

Avell sighed looking back to her. He had expected this. He knew he wouldn't be a hot commodity with the real competition- the careers would never want him- but with some of the weaker tributes like Auden, he'd be an 'safe target'. She probably assumed that he would just say yes too because he was small and therefore couldn't function in the arena on his own. She was wrong of course. He would probably thrive the most out of everyone there. He had to make sure he put this nicely though. Hurting feelings wouldn't get anyone anywhere.

"Auden right?" he asked carefully. The girl nodded. "I'm going to be honest with you okay? I mean you seem really nice and stuff, but I'm not really looking for an alliance okay? And I suggest you don't either."

"What?" Auden said. The disappointment was already resonating in her gut.

"Can I ask you why you want an alliance?" Avell responded patiently.

Auden blushed. "I, um, I just thought it'd be nice not to be alone in the arena."

"So you want a friend?" Avell stated.

"I guess."

"And how many winners are there? Two? Three? No, there's one. It's just not smart," he explained. "I'm not trying to be mean, this is just the way things are. If you're smart you won't let anyone else weigh you down either."

Auden swallowed looking at her feet. "Oh, okay," she said. She knew that she wouldn't listen to the boy's advice though. She needed somebody to go through this with. If she had to go it alone, she'd surely die.

* * *

District Five:

Petro Joule (16) and Mae Themis (14)

* * *

_Clank, clank, clank._

The silent room was filled with the sound of Petro's fork knocking against his porcelain plate. When they brought the food out, he had carefully taken a steak and cut it up into small precise cubes. Now that it was cut though, he couldn't bring himself to eat any of it. He was hungry, sure, but he didn't have the heart to eat anything. He deserved the constant grumbling of his stomach.

"Well you're depressing," Mae suddenly snapped. Beside her, Isaac Luster jumped a little, startled by the sudden noise. He was her mentor, as she had claimed him when they walked onto the train. Petro was stuck with Atom Washer who was currently snoring in the seat beside him. He wasn't bitter about his bad luck though. Things were better this way. He wasn't worth any mentor's time.

Petro glanced up at her emptily. With a deep sigh, he gave her a small smile. "Sorry if I'm bugging you," he mumbled half heartedly. Gently he placed his fork down, leaning back into his chair. With a wary eye he glanced over at the steak knife beside it before returning his eyes to his lap.

"That's no better," Mae huffed. Petro just shrugged.

"L-let's not fight," Isaac Luster mumbled as he chewed on his thumb.

"We won't have to," Mea said, sending her District partner an icy glare. "If he keeps moping like that he'll get killed off in the blood bath."

Petro couldn't help but wonder if she was right. Was he already destined to die within the first five seconds of the game. He didn't know. At the very least, he was sure he wouldn't win. He wouldn't allow that of himself. Someone else who had a people who depended on them should win. That didn't mean he had to die first though. Petro's gut twisted into a tight knot. He had never been courageous enough to kill himself. His fear of death was, for the moment, much greater than his fear of life. Every time he thought of ending things, his mind travelled to his mother, and the grotesque angle of her neck the day he found her. Well, it appeared he wouldn't have to do the deed himself anymore. Someone else would kill him themselves, and he wouldn't even have to ask.

"Don't look at me like that. It's true," Mae sneered at her mentor. The man sighed, his fidgety blue eyes looking away from her and scanning the room for the umpteenth time that evening. It was almost as if he expected someone to be creeping up on him. Whatever the habit was from though, Mae was sure the behavior was irrational. Isaac had always shown himself to be mentally weak. He proved that of himself during the Games when he broke down the day his last ally died. She didn't need him giving her 'advice'. She was smarter than all of them combined after all. She'd figure things out without him. If he wasn't necessary for sponsors, she might ask him to go away all together.

"I don't c-care if it's true," Isaac said, putting on a mirage of strength. "You're going to spend the rest of your life fighting, try and get some peace while you can."

Mae smirked. "Don't be stupid. I'm only going to be fighting for a week or so because I'm going to win."

Isaac shook his head, not responding. It was Atom who reacted to her statement. He was sitting in his chair, mid-snore, when his breath caught suddenly and his body bolted upright. He swung his head around to Mae, his eyes hopelessly bloodshot. "I'm sorry? What did you say?" he croaked gruffly.

"I said I'm going to win. Are you deaf?" Mae announced again.

Atom's chapped lips stretched into a long creepy grin. "Are you?" he said. Then as if someone had made some sort of hilarious joke, he started cracking up, slapping Isaac on the back hysterically.

Mae pursed her lips indignantly and crossed her arms, ready to ring the victor out. She was going to win. As the smartest kid in District Five and probably in Panem, she couldn't lose. He clearly was just too dense to understand that. Before she got a chance to respond though, Petro pushed his chair back and stood. He was tired of talking with Isaac and Mae. With Atom now added to the mix, it was too much. He needed to be alone. Now.

"I'm going to bed," he said quietly. With that, he quickly made his exit before anyone else could object. None of them noticed that his steak knife had disappeared. Only the Avox's would know later, and they couldn't tell anyone. Slipping into the hallway he started to run towards his room. This all was so overwhelming, he needed his release, and he would get it.

* * *

District Seven:

Kan Murcius (17) and Rowan Diatello (15)

* * *

Kan rolled onto his stomach, letting out a low pained moan. His stomach felt like someone had poured some kind of acid into it, and he had been fighting the urge to make his dinner reappear all night. He knew he shouldn't have ate so much for dinner, but everything was just so good. His family had never been rich. He had never seen so much food in his life. How could he resist going a little overboard?

He was paying for it now though. He wasn't used to such rich fare, and he knew he'd be battling to keep it down for several more hours. It was ironic really. He was a medic by profession and now he was sick and couldn't do anything about it. Illness wasn't his specialty though. Out in the field, workers broke bones, got cut up, occasionally lost a limb, but never got ill. The only sicknesses he knew a little about were hypothermia and heat exhaustion. Indigestion and other similar ailments were alien to him. He wondered if they made medicine for this. Medicine...

With a groan, Kan swung his feet around and he rose. Grasping the dresser as he steadied himself, Kan rubbed his stomach. They must know that most of the impoverished tributes don't have strong stomachs. There must be some sort of medicine cabinet around the train to treat him this. Walking into the hallway, Kan began to slowly work his way towards the back of the train, poking his head into each door. Most rooms were empty. For whatever reason, there was a lot of bedrooms on the train. He also mistakenly walked into the kitchen where he got a whiff of something baking in the oven. The smell made him want to puke again.

Just as he was running out of doors to open, he heard a noise coming from one of the rooms. Gingerly, he turned the knob and poked his head in. It was a small closet with shelf after shelf of boxes. A figure with long brown hair was crouched on the ground, clutching her stomach as she rummaged through one of the boxes. "Hello?" he called.

The figure jumped, spinning around towards him. It was Rowan, his district partner. "Oh, I didn't hear you," she breathed as she threw her hand over her heart. "I thought I was going to get in trouble."

Kan laughed as he lowered himself onto the floor next to her. "Don't worry I won't tell. Stomach problems?" he asked.

She nodded bitterly. "Nobody said the food here was toxic. i was looking for medicine," she said with a sigh. Just like Kan she'd been fighting the urge to purge since she ate dinner. She'd already been to the bathroom four times that evening, and just wanted to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day with chariot rides, and she needed to be well rested.

"Me too. You haven't found any have you?" Kan asked. Rowan shook her head, opening up the box wide to reveal that it was filled with canned food, a few screw drives, and some smaller packaged boxes labeled light bulbs.

"It's just a storage closet. I've looked through most of it already. No meds," Rowan shook her head.

"That sucks," Kan frowned.

"Tell me about it," Rowan agreed with a slight smile. "You know, they tell you about all the other obstacles that you face when you become a tribute- the chariot rides, interviews, surviving the arena- but nobody tells you about this stuff."

"I mean I don't know about you, but if someone told me having a full stomach could make you sick, I probably wouldn't have believed them," Kan said lightly.

"That's probably true," Rowan nodded. Slowly, she leaned back against the wall. It made her feel better that Kan was there with her, like she wasn't alone in her sufferings. He was a nice guy. They'd talked for a while earlier just about random things, to keep their mind off the Games. They never spoke much before, as he didn't attend school, but since they were neighbors, she found that they had plenty of material to talk about. And as neither of their mentors were all that talkative, they only really had each other to talk to.

"We'll have to make sure we don't over do things at breakfast tomorrow," Kan said. "I don't think it'd be very appealing if we both were sick during the chariot rides."

Rowan smiled. "Oh, I don't know what you're talking about, puking would win us loads of sponsors," she joked. "Hey, do you know what you were going to be doing for the Games. Like, what's your strategy?"

Kan paused. "I don't know. Don't die I guess? I've never really considered what I'd do. I've spent so long helping people..." Kan's face grew dark as he thought about the daunting task in front of him. Killing someone was so final and irreversible, so cruel, could he really do that?

"I know what you mean, neither of us really have a chance," she smirked bitterly.

Kan sighed. "We've got each other though, for now at least," he said, watching her face carefully.

She smiled her eyes lighting up. "I guess we do," she agreed. At the very least, now she knew she wouldn't have to go through it all alone.

* * *

District Nine:

Ghram Aintree (13) and Zea Bachmeier (18)

* * *

Ghram shoved his arm through the sleave of his new silk pajama shirt as he dressed for bed. He felt alone and lost without the familiar sounds of his friends echoing around him. The entire day had been surreal. From the moment he was reaped it was like everything had started spinning. The goodbyes, watching the reaping recap, everything had passed in one giant flash. He felt trapped on the train away from the rolling fields of Nine. There was no where to run here.

With a huge sigh, he fell onto the bed. At first, he had been upset. Milo hadn't volunteered for him. Not that the older boy ever said he would, but Ghram had always sort of fantasized that he was so important his leader that Milo wouldn't let any harm come to him. He wasn't surprised that Milo had stayed silent. He was just disappointed. And scared; he was very scared.

He had to get passed that though. He wasn't going to go down without a fight, that was for sure. He needed a strategy. For now, he was thinking about going to join the careers. They operated with that pack mentality that he was familiar to. He wasn't entirely sure they'd accept him though. He was one of the youngest kids in the Games, and naturally they were all going to assume he was weak. If they told him no, he wasn't sure what he'd do. The Capitol was probably expecting him to team up with the boy from Three, who was only twelve. Usually two or three of the youngest kids formed an alliance. He didn't want to team up with that pip-squeak though. Three looked like the kind of boy Ghram would've kicked the crap out of back at home- all scrawny and introverted. He wanted to be aligned with older kids. The boys from Six, Eight, and Twelve all looked decent.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Ghram raised his head to find Flax Vernon walking into his room. He won the fourteenth Hunger Games ages ago. He was old and grey now, and made his way around in a very high tech wheel chair. His eyes were always sharp though. District Nine was well known for having well preserved Victors. None of them had any severe problems with substance abuse and so far no one had been checked into any sort of mental institution; although, there had been some rumors about Gwyneth lately. So far that day, Ghram hadn't seen any trace of Nine's victors. They had been at the reaping, but he hadn't seen them since.

"Kid," the man greeted brusquely.

"Oh, uh, hi," Ghram said.

With a tired sigh, Flax rolled his green eyes. "I'm going to be your mentor this year," he said. "Thought you should know."

Something about the forced way Flax talked annoyed Ghram. His life was on the line, Flax should at least pretend to care. "Gee, sounds like I got lucky," Ghram responded sarcastically.

"Be grateful that I've even bothered telling you kid, 'cause if I had it my way, I wouldn't even be here. You're not my charity case," Flax scowled in response.

"Nobody said I was begging," Ghram snapped.

"Not yet you're not," Flax snarled before turning and rolling out of the room.

In the room across the hall, Zea was lying on her bed cross legged as she stared at a game board carefully. She had requested the board from one of the Avox's. It was a strategy game, that you played with a partner usually, but Zea usually played alone. It helped her think. Her situation was looking glum. She was three moves behind, and the number of possible outcomes were dwindling. It appeared as if she had lost, yet she was still deep in thought, trying to out maneuver her imaginary opponent.

Her situation in real life was rather similar. She knew that she had been thrown into the Games unprepared. Her opponents were going to be experienced, clever, and strong. Just the fact that she came from Nine put her at a disadvantage. She wasn't ready to give up on her life yet. She had always been very good at mind games, and in that was what the Hunger Games was- a mind game. Over the next few days, she would be doing a lot of watching, and she was ready for it. She had to identify a good group for an alliance. She knew that tributes exelled when they had someone to rely on. That was why careers won so often. Not because they were trained, although that most certainly helped, but because they didn't go through the Games alone.

She already knew that Ghram wasn't an option though. She'd only known him for a couple of hours, and it was pretty clear that he was impulsive. He wasn't predictable enough to be trusted. In the arena, he could do anything, and if she ticked him off, she was pretty sure he'd turn on her in an instant. She needed someone more mellow, someone who would rely on her.

With a thoughtful sigh, Zea pressed her thumb to her lip, and moved one of her game pieces forwards. The next couple of weeks were going to be complicated, but not impossible. The Capitol always had their victor. She just had to play things right.

* * *

District Eleven:

Damien Creast (17) and Cree Ophelia (18)

* * *

Cree woke up gently to the feeling of sun light streaming through her window. With a small smile, she jumped to her feet and walked over to her mirror. Life as a tribute wasn't so bad. They had fed her and Damien an absolutely fabulous meal the previous night, and their rooms looked like they came straight out of victor's village. She couldn't wait to see what the Capitol had in store for them in for the next week. She couldn't wait. With an excited sigh, she ran into the bathroom and started getting dressed. They were scheduled to arrive in the Capitol at noon today. Her heart soared just thinking about it.

Rubin Royal and Porcelain Braavos were the District One tributes this year. Of course, they weren't her first choice, but it was going to feel amazing to see someone from home. Even the Capitol people had been a breath of fresh air from the dirty homeless of Eleven.

Hurrying through a slightly altered version of her morning routine, Cree glided out into the hallway and towards the main lounge compartment, where the smell of bacon and eggs radiated through the air. With an elated smile on her face, she burst into the room. Damien was sitting at the table already as one of the Avox's made his plate for him at the buffet. Seeder sat beside him chatting idly whilst Chaff lounged on the coach, watching the television, a canister of whiskey already in his hands.

"Mourning," Cree said as she walked over to the buffet and started filling her plate.

"Sleep well?" Damien asked with a smile.

"Yeah," Cree responded with a shrug. Damien seemed nice enough. He was needy though. From the moment he got on the train, he had an Avox waiting on his hand and foot. Honestly, he couldn't do anything by himself. Obviously he wasn't going to last a minute once the Games started. At least he didn't come from the slums though. Cree didn't have to tolerate any sort of odor or ill manners around him, which she appreciated. As far as District partners went, she wasn't too upset about him. Not that it would matter, as once the Games started, she would be with the careers.

"That's good," Damien said as he took a bite of his food. While her back was turned, Damien stole an attentive glance at his District partner. These next couple hours were going to be crucial to him. If he was going keep up his blind facade, he needed an ally in the arena, which wasn't going to an easy thing to find. Cree was an obvious go to choice. As his District partner, he already had a pre-established rapport with her. He needed this alliance. Keeping up the blind act could save him.

Sitting beside Seeder, Cree began to eat. She wasn't interested in too much conversation with Damien. As she had said, he was a nice guy, but she had no interest in him. He had nothing to give her.

Beside him, Damien had Seeder wrapped around his fingers. The woman was extremely sympathetic and had an almost tired air about her. Clearly she felt bad for him, and he enjoyed the sympathy. He didn't want to talk to her at the moment though, he was focused on Cree. "So Cree, I was wondering about your plan for the arena," Damien said clearing his throat.

Cree gave him a side long look, knowing that he couldn't register her expression. It worried him. "I'm going to join the careers," she said bluntly.

Damien bit his lip. "Yeah? I mean, are you sure about that?"

Cree snorted. "I was at the academy for a couple of years when I was little. I know Porcelain and Rubin, of course I'm sure," she said incredulously.

Chaff made a gurgling noise on the coach and lifted his head up. "You had training?" he asked, his words slightly slurred.

"Yeah."

"Oh, well see, I was wondering if you'd want to be my ally?" Damien asked with a soft smile.

Cree rolled her eyes. "Damien, you seem nice, but you should just accept that you're not going to be going very far. I'm going to be with the careers, end of discussion," she said bluntly.

"Oh well, good luck with the careers I guess. Let me know if you want to reconsider," Damien muttered. He dipped his head so that no one could see his eyes darkening. He could feel Seeder's comforting hand on his back. So Cree had denied him. No matter, he would just have to work a little harder in training. He would have an ally by the start of things though, someone better than Cree. He had no doubt, he had these Games in the bag.

* * *

**A/N Finale got this chapter out, sorry it took so long, but again my computer access has been sketchy. Honestly, I'm not that happy with this chapter. It was a bit rushed because I didn't want too much time to pass without an update. Hopefullly the next one will be a bit better as far as quality is concerned. Any who, I have the poll results for you.**

**Here's how the votes for favorite character panned out:**

**Whisper Raleigh and Crescent Lolium are tied for first with 5 votes each**

**Auden Eneis, Airin la Aguilla, Dust Lectart, and Ranger Capen are tied for second with 4 votes each**

**Rocio Greivers is in third with 3 votes**

**Mae Themis, Avanna Welcher, Damien Creast, Cree Ophelia, Burnet Stevens, and Cutter Wryer all got 2 votes**

**Porcelain Braavos, Petro Joule, Kan Murcius, and Dice Bromton all got 1 vote**

**Vlad Pekelo, Alexis Hayden, Rowan Diatello, Ghram Aintree, and Zea Bachmeier didn't get any votes. **

**Just to reiterate this point: The poll has no affect on the outcome of the Games. I already have the victor picked. There are people with no votes that will get far, and there are people with votes that won't. I can guarantee some of your opinions will change as you get to know these characters better.**

**Until next time.**


	15. Train Rides Part Two

District Two:

Vlad Pekelo (18) and Alexis Hayden (16)

* * *

Kegan chewed on the end of his pencil as he tiredly examined the diagram he had drawn. Every line was precise and to scale. It was good work, but something was missing. The design had several flaws in it. For instance right now, if someone were to use a laser that was built exactly to his drawing, there would be a forty percent chance of the mechanism exploding in the users hands. He had to find a solution to the flaws before he returned home. His boss would kill him if the first prototypes failed miserably.

"Kegan, we'd all appreciate it if you were present for this conversation?" a strained female voice interrupted his conscience. He glanced up at his fellow mentor, Gitta. The woman was staring at him with a small smirk as her eyes rested curiously on hid diagram. Her pin straight red hair was just barely shoulder length, and she had distant electric blue eyes. Her presence was slightly unsettling, as per usual. She was a manipulator- the secretive kind of person that could drive paranoia into the soul with just a glance. That was how she won her Games, by keeping secrets. Technically he was supposed to be friends with her now that he was a Victor, but Kegan never really enjoyed the presence of any of his fellow champions, let alone Gitta.

"Sorry," Kegan mumbled, slipping his work into a folder and looking up at the table. Gitta was to his right, but across from them sat their two tributes- Vlad Pekelo and Alexis Hayden. They were having an initial strategy meeting. Both tributes were sitting attentively as they stared at the Gitta with patience and respect. One day young tributes would stare at Kegan that way too, but for now the current tributes were still his peers. The familiarity between him and the tributes ruined any possible idolization that Gitta relished in. Vlad was even his age. The two boys had trained together once upon a time. Personally Kegan thought Vlad was a tad too narrow minded. The boy had his eyes set on becoming a Victor, and sometimes Kegan doubted if the other boy ever had a thought that wasn't related to the Games.

Of course, Vlad had his own choice thoughts on Kegan. How someone like him ever won the Games was a mystery to Vlad. Kegan was too bookish. Honestly, Vlad wasn't all that happy that Kegan was his mentor. He would have preferred having someone who had more experience than him, someone who might actually be able to teach him something.

"Right, as I was saying, I have the profiles on the other careers here," Gitta said, pushing four papers onto the table.

"They're short," Vlad noted picking them up and glancing at them.

"We only have what the Capitol newscasters have. Unless you'd like to go take a trip to District One and Four to do some digging," Kegan said rolling his eyes. Vlad lean backwards and picked up one of the bios to look at. He understood all too well that Kegan would have a big hand in his future, and he wouldn't ruin his chances by reacting to the Victor's sarcasm.

Alexis's eyes flickered between the two silently, then glanced towards Gitta. Her mentor was also watching the two boys with a small smirk on her face. Clearly the woman enjoyed friction. "Anything specific we should be paying attention to?" she asked.

"We don't know much about the girls, but District One's male tribute is the grandson of Price Royal, victor of the 23rd Hunger Games, and District Four's male tribute is blind," Kegan answered scientifically.

Alexis's eyes fluttered upwards, and Vlad's head jerked slightly. "Did you say blind?" he asked for the both of them. "And he volunteered?"

Gitta smirked. "Yup that's what he said. He wasn't supposed to volunteer either. He shouldn't be much of a threat, I would focus on the other players in your alliance."

Alexis nodded seriously, glancing at Vlad, only to find him glancing at her. She quickly looked away, focusing her eyes back on Gitta who was still smirking. Looking at her mentor in the eye, she understood. Vlad was just as much the competition as One or Four.

"What about the others outside of the careers. Anyone of note?" Vlad asked.

"Too early to say too much without training scores. The girls from Nine through Eleven seem pretty tough. The boys from Six and Eight are big too. Although that doesn't mean that they're big contenders," Kegan drawled. "Training HQ wanted us to stress One and Four. If you both die but an outlying district wins, then we are all still pretty even. If you die and One wins, or even worse, if Four wins, someone's head is going to roll."

"No pressure though," Vlad smirked.

"It won't be a problem," Alexis said, sitting up slightly straighter. It felt good to be sitting on the train, talking strategy. With a slight smirk she leaned back in her chair. She'd make Nolan proud.

"Right, onto your strategies for the next couple of days in the Capitol," Kegan went on.

"Actually, I was hoping that we could have all of the more personal strategy talks separately. Nothing against you Vlad. I just like surprising people," Alexis interrupted. Vlad narrowed his eyes and stared at his District partner. He was hoping that they'd have a relatively open relationship. Especially with all this inter-District tension, having someone to rely on would have been nice. If she didn't want things that way though, he wouldn't complain. He was going to have to slit her throat in the end anyways.

"Separately?" Gitta said slowly as her lips curled upwards. "That's new."

"Yes, I've been told that's an option," Alexis nodded.

"I don't think we've ever mentored our tributes separately. Even you and Chateaux did everything in groups right Kegan? And you two hated each other," Gitta said. Kegan simply nodded, his face going stolid at the mention of _her_ name.

"But it is an option," Alexis said.

Kegan opened his mouth as he recovered, preparing to argue against it. If Alexis was suggesting this, that meant she probably wasn't trustworthy. It would be in Vlad's benefit not to let her out of his sight, and of course, Vlad was the only one who was really Kegan's responsibility. Before he could get the words out though, Vlad cut him off. "No problem," he said dangerously. "Just remember that if you're asking for surprises, that's what you're going to get."

"No problem," she winked. "I'm always ready for anything."

* * *

District Four:

Airin la Aguilla (18) and Rocio Grievers (17)

* * *

Rocio pressed her back against the cold metal of the roof of the train as she watched the clouds zoom by above her. She could feel the wind curving around her body, whipping her cloths and hair around violently. With a blank expression, she sighed. The train had been moving for two hours now, and the smell of salt water had disappeared from the air. Now the sweltering sun was the only thing she had left from District Four, her home. Maybe the arena would have some water in it. That way, she'd be able to pretend she was back at the beach while she died.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that she was doomed. She still couldn't believe that she'd found the courage to volunteer. Just thinking about it now, she felt a mix of awe and regret churning in her stomach. If only her parents could understand what Seymour would have done to them if she had refused, that would have made her feel better. Of course, they didn't know. She was going to be die; her father hated her; and her mother didn't understand just how much of a crap career she really was. Those were the facts, and they weren't going to change any time soon.

"Rocio?" a voice called over the deafening noise of the wind. Rocio lifted her head up. A couple of yards in front of her, just at the part where one train car met the next, a black haired head was poking up. Her gut squeezed as she watched Airin call her name again.

"What are you doing up here?" she cried. A light smile stretched across her District partner's face as he hoisted himself up the ladder and onto the roof with her. He closed his eyes and carefully swung his arms out for balance. Nimbly she scrambled to her feet and ran lightly over to him. It was one thing for her to be up here, with her five years of gymnastics training at the academy, but for Airin to start walking upright with no training and no eye sight, well, it was dangerous.

"I was looking for you," he answered with a friendly smile. "It's almost dinner time."

"Sit down," she said urgently. She slowly guided them both downwards, hovering as she made sure he was sturdy.

"I'm blind, not fragile, you know. I'm perfectly capable of walking on a roof. Just warn me if we're going to go under a bridge or something," he said with a frown. He knew that people were going to be treating him as if he was a toddler, always helping him through everything. That didn't mean he was going to like it. Hopefully Rocio would learn that he was independent quickly because he needed her treating him like a reliable ally by the time the Games started.

"Sorry," Rocio laughed hesitantly. She stared at Airin for a minute before shaking her head. She still wasn't quite sure why he had volunteered, but she liked Airin. He always seemed pretty nice and down to earth at the Academy. She wasn't entirely ready to let him act like a fully functioning human being though because no matter how much he wanted to be normal, he simply wasn't.

"It's fine," Airin replied easily, cracking a smile. "You're not as bad as the Capitol people if it makes you feel any better. They assigned an Avox to 'help' me do everything. I swear the guy wouldn't even let me dress myself. I think I ditched him though."

"I heard that's what they're doing for the District Eleven guy," Rocio nodded.

Airin nodded, tilting his head slightly. Finnick had told him one of the other tributes was blind, and it was an odd tidbit of knowledge. He felt bad for the other guy. Without the kind of training Airin had received, he'd be doomed. Airin wanted to talk to him though. He'd gone to a few seminars when he was little to help him cope with his disability. He'd learned pretty quickly then that there were two types of disabled kids- the helpless kind who were always begging for assistance with everything, and the independent kind who did everything in their power to strive towards having a completely self sufficient life. He couldn't stand the former, but he'd love to have a friendly conversation with the later.

"So, what 'cha doing up here?" Airin asked, changing the subject.

"Noting. It was sort of a nice place to get away from all of the Hunger Games mania downstairs," Rocio said with a sigh.

"Get away from it?" Airin pestered curiously.

"Yeah, to get away from it," Rocio said. Her voice was dark and defensive. Clearly he'd hit a touchy topic.

"A career that doesn't like the Games? I think that's a first," he teased.

"Yeah, well why'd you volunteer huh?" she shot back.

Airin paused his face twisting for a moment."'Cause I felt like it," he eventually recovered. "Anyways, I was looking for you because I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be there for you. Don't think that I'm going to be a crappy career or a crappy District partner because of my eyes or because they picked Hartley over me."

An awkward silence followed. For whatever reason, it almost hurt to say Hartley's name. Just the thought of his best friend made Airin's heart ache. It was for the best, he reminded himself. After a minute or two passed, Rocio felt her will give out. She was never the type to hold a grudge, and in all honesty, Airin's questions had been fair. She was the one being ridiculous here.

"Um, thanks," she said. "And if I am ever helping too much, don't be afraid to say something."

"Will do," Airin grinned, leaning back on his palms, and breathing in the fresh air. "Districts One and Two aren't going to know what hit them this year, you just wait and see."

* * *

District Six:

Dust Lectart (17) and Crescent Lollium (17)

* * *

"What did I tell you about the food," a furious voice roared from the door way. Dust's head snapped up and he found an ancient looking man standing stiffly upright. His dark beady eyes bored into Kiva's and Clio's backs as they both jumped, looking startled. Quickly they both scrambled to cover up the mess they'd made, as if the man at the door hadn't already seen it. "Stop pretending it's not there and clean it up before you make the Avox's do it, you useless lumps," the man barked. It was only after they were well into their task that the man seemed to pick up on Dust. "I swear kid. If I save your ass from that arena and you come back and drug yourself up, I will kill you myself."

Dust laughed nervously as he took another bite of his food. "Don't worry, I'm not into that stuff anymore," he said with a smile. The man shot him a dangerous glare, and Dust put his hands up. "Relax I'm just kidding. I've never gotten high, nor do I ever plan to be. I've seen what that stuff does to your head."

The man just shook his head. "Don't joke about things like that kid. My names Avion Tore. I'm going to be your mentor. Now listen carefully because I'm only saying this once. I don't tolerate surprises. If you've got baggage spit it out now because if I hear something damaging on that damned television, it's not my problem. I don't tolerate stupidity. If you decide to lose your common sense, that's not my problem. I don't give out hand outs. You want something in the arena, you better earn it. And most importantly I don't tolerate drugs. I don't joke about them. I don't talk about them. I don't even want you thinking about them. I don't care if its your damned life that's on the line. I ain't bring out another one of those," he said, jabbing his finger at Clio and Kiva. "Any questions?"

Dust smiled innocently and shook his head. He had to hand it to the guy, Avion was intimidating. He could only imagine how the guy might react if he found out Dust smuggled drugs for a living. Now that would be a scene. There was no denying though that he had gotten lucky though. Avion had a reputation for being a rather formidable mentor. He'd brought home both Kiva and Metro Fraser, who would probably be Crescent's mentor. Avion only ever mentored when he thought a tribute had a real chance. The last girl he mentored, Totem Earhart placed tenth, but even though she didn't make it to the final eight, it was obvious she was a competitor. He supposed that it was a good sign that Avion had chosen him. It meant the Victor saw some potential in him.

"Good," Avion muttered before turning around and starting to make himself a dinner plate. Dust nodded and returned his vision to the television screen where the news casters were talking about the District Seven tributes.

Avion took a seat beside him as the screen moved onto District Eight. Two pictures of the two appeared on the screen. To the left was a sixteen year old girl with long brown hair. To the right was a burly eighteen year old guy with a dangerous look in his eye. Come to think of it, Dust thought he looked rather familiar... Suddenly it hit him, and Dust nearly choked on his food. The boy's name was Dice, and he was a currier in District Eight. Loot used him occasionally to carry morphling to buyers. He wasn't technically a dealer because he wasn't supposed to know what was in the package, but Dust didn't see how the guy could be completely oblivious as to what he was carrying. Having him get reaped was possibly the best news for Dust all day. Now not only did he have someone who knew about the business, but he knew that Dice was trustworthy. They would never have let him carry any of the goods if he wasn't trustworthy.

With a grin, Dust pointed to the screen. "I want that guy in my alliance," he declared.

Avion snorted. "Then don't piss him off during training."

In a dark room down the hallway, Crescent sat with her back against the door, her eyes watching the way the light tried to penetrate through the closed curtains of her window. She shook her head as she stopped eavesdropping on Dust's conversation with Avion. It wasn't all that interesting. Dust, her so called District partner didn't see the world the way she did, and neither did any of the victors. Nobody did honestly, but she didn't care. She never felt alone. The shadows were her company, and they were enough. She did not need allies, or have to worry about a mentor's silly rules. She had no fear looking into the future. Shadows could always be trusted. They were her friends in every way possible, and unlike another tribute, she would never have to kill them. They'd be with her for her entire journey, and even if she should die, they'd follow her into the next world. That was her advantage. Unlike all the other tributes, she did not fear what she had to lose.

* * *

District Eight:

Dice Bromton (18) and Avanna Welcher (16)

* * *

Avanna held her breath as she looked at the closed door, and knocked on it gingerly. She could hear her heart beating in her stomach as the seconds passed with no response. She hadn't talked to Dice all day, and she really wanted to establish something with him. He didn't even have to be her ally. She just didn't want to go through the rest of the week feeling alone. Hopefully he just wouldn't be mad when he saw her because he certainly did seem slightly hostile during dinner. When an entire minute had passed and there was still no answer, she lifted her hand and knocked again.

Behind the wooden door, Dice sighed. Could the brat just take a hint? He didn't want to be bothered. The eighteen year old boy was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were bloodshot and puff, like he had been crying recently, though he hadn't shed a tear just yet. He felt completely exhausted. After the tranquilizer fluid had worn off, Dice felt like he had woken up in a nightmare. The cramped train made him feel like a trapped pig being held in a cage just before it was sent off to slaughter, and the pampering made him feel sick to his stomach. Every time he discovered some new lavish expenditure that the Capitol had gone out of its way to provide for the incoming tributes, he couldn't help but think of what that extra bowl of soup or electronic gadget had cost the impoverished District citizens. Seeing Avanna didn't help. Especially because she was accostumed to many things that he could only dream of- like running water and wired lights.

When the door creaked open, he couldn't help but scowl. The rich girl had come in to bother him. Well he just didn't want to talk.

"Um, hi," Avanna said nervously as she stepped into the room.

He glanced up at her, the deep frown making her feel even more like an intruder. "'Sup," he said venomously. Just from his tone, it was clear that he didn't want to be bothered. Avanna hesitated. Perhaps it would be better if she just left now, but then things would only be more awkward next time. She had to break the ice sooner or later.

"I thought I'd come check up to see if you were okay. You left dinner kind of abruptly," Avanna said carefully, her cheeks turning red.

"Well I've never been better. Don't worry about me," Dice spat angrily.

Avanna opened her mouth, at a loss for words. She'd never had someone be so openly malicious towards her, and she wasn't sure how to react. As things didn't seem like they were going to get better though, she decided it'd be best to just cut the conversation off while she was ahead. "Um, well, if you want to talk or anything, I'm just across the hall," she said quickly before disappearing out of the room.

Dice returned his icy glare to the ceiling once she had disappeared. He felt so incredibly angry, it was almost unfathomable. Underneath all of that though, he knew he was just burying the pain of all of this. He just hoped that Dixon wasn't missing him as much as Dice missed Dixon. His brother didn't deserve this kind of grief.

Once in the hallway, she quickly scampered down towards her room, closing herself inside. With a deep sigh, she leaned her head against the wall, feeling overwhelmed and disappointed. She wished that she just had someone to talk to. Really the only person she'd met so far that seemed to be unquestionably on her side was her mentor Celcelia, but she had been distracted earlier. Talking to Dice just made her feel even more alone.

Picking up a pad of paper that had been left out on her dresser for her, Avanna pulled out a pencil and started to make several long strokes. She knew exactly what she was drawing as she started to make corners and bend lines. Just because she would never be in District Eight again didn't mean she couldn't catch another glimpse of it. She was going to draw her home- a place of complete and utter happiness.

* * *

District Ten:

Whisper Raleigh (15) and Ranger Capen (17)

* * *

"Oh, good, you're done eating already," Cyran Stunners said dryly as he entered the room. The escort's blood red eyes were examining his long black nails as he entered the dining car. Whisper and Ranger both glanced up at him, neither all that thrilled to be spending the day following the creepy guy's orders. They were both sitting on the coach not watching the pre-chariot ride hype that was playing on the television. Breakfast had already been devoured earlier that morning, so they were really just enjoying some down time before they arrived in the Capitol at ten.

"Why's it matter," Whisper asked groggily, stretching his limbs. Last night had been very long. He hadn't gotten much sleep knowing what the next week had in store for him. Today was probably going to be even worse.

Cyran shot them a cold smile. "I can start getting you ready for your arrival now," he said. Flicking his unnatural forked tongue out, he slowly licked his lips.

"Oh stop it Cyran, you'll scare them," Eve Catter cooed as she glided into the room. Her bright blue eyes sent Cyran a rather unnerving icy glare as she plopped herself beside Whisper. "Sorry about him guys. Cyran here just doesn't know how to mind his manners."

Whisper shot her an odd look, then glanced back towards Cyran. "I'm sure that's exactly what it is. It couldn't be that he's just a freaking psychopath," he mumbled rolling his eyes.

"Sorry?" Eve said glancing back over at him.

"Nothing," Whisper said with a cheesy smile. Luckily she brushed it off and just kept going.

"Right, well, you won't have to do any prepping for your arrival. It's probably best that you actually do as little as possible. The stylists will just have more to do if you start messing with your hair or something," Eve said.

The room went silent after that. Neither Ranger or Whisper were big talkers. Back at home they both were open with only a select few people. Now that they had each been stripped of all of their loved ones, any chance of a friendly conversation had vanished. Whisper was still grieving over his families absence actually. He never thought that he would miss his little brother and sister so much in their absence. And of course there was Lyric, his one and only friend. Just thinking about her made his stomach knot. Shaking his head, he drew his knees to his chest. He'd come back home, he reminded himself.

Ranger who was sitting to Whisper's left, wasn't going through the same sort of emotional crises. Her eyes were stolid and cold as she watched Eve and Cyran interact with mild annoyance. Something in the darker side of her wanted to say something despicable to them, just to get them to leave her alone. She knew better though. This next couple weeks was about more than just getting home. She was under a microscope now. Every small nuance was being watched by all of Panem. During the next couple of days she would either prove her mother right, or she'd prove her wrong. More importantly though, Hayden was going to see it all. In her mind, there was no question that she'd be returning home. She knew she had that awful grit every Victor possessed. The real task here was making sure that when she returned, she'd have someone to come home to. And she couldn't let Hayden down. He was too good for that.

* * *

District Twelve:

Burnet Stevens (15) and Cutter Wryer (14)

* * *

"I can see it," Burnet announced loudly as he gazed out the window in awe. On the horizon, the Capitol was emerging. Even from far away the hulking sky scrapers and noisy buzz commanded power and attention. Burnet and Cutter had never seen anything quite like it. It most certainly made District Twelve seem like a rather sorry place.

Behind them Haymitch Abernathy gave a gritty coughing laugh, though he didn't mention what was so funny. Cutter rolled her eyes. She could smell the booze from across the room, and it was only about ten o' clock in the morning. Haymitch was possibly even more disgusting than her father.

"It's pretty amazing," she said to Burnet.

He nodded, a sideways smile on his face. "Where was this place when my mom was looking for a new house last year?" he joked.

"I don't think this place was in her budget," Cutter muttered.

Burnet sighed as he pressed his forehead against the glass. The city was approaching fast, and he had to prepare himself. The rest of the day was going to be madness, he just knew it. Elbowing Cutter, he pointed ahead. As the outskirt buildings of the city started to surround the train, the posters started to appear. The Capiotlites must have been preparing all last night for their arrival because posters, streamers, and welcome signs decorated their city. The words 'Welcome Tributes' could be seen in every direction. Some of them even had their faces printed on them. It was pretty easy to see that the careers were already the favorites, as the faces of the kids from One Two and Four appeared twice as much as the rest of them. They could still spot a couple glimpses of their own faces. A few signs were even decorated solely to them. It was almost a tad overwhelming.

"Smile for the cameras," Effie Trinket said from behind them. She was sitting on the coach reading some magazine. Cutter took her advice to heart though. After all, she had been doing this job for several years. She had to know at least a little bit about creating a good reputation. Cutter trusted her more than Haymitch for the moment at least. As for Burnet, well, the smile came easy to him. He didn't have to be told as the citizens started appearing on around the tracks. It was just second nature.

The train pulled into the station about five minutes after arriving in the city, and the two tributes were ushered towards the doorway. They were only going to be taking a five minute walk into the tribute building, but in those five minutes, they'd be making their first appearance since the reaping. Cameras were everywhere. Cutter bit her lip, feeling nervous. She'd be glad when they were back inside, hidden from all the prying people.

"Ready," Burnet breathed bravely.

"Nope," Cutter replied.

The train door slid open, and they were bombarded by the noise. The people roared at the sight of their tributes. The two District Twelve kids could hear their names being called from every direction. Haymitch appeared behind them suddenly, wrapping his arms around their shoulders sloppily. "Come on kiddies," he slurred as he dragged them forwards.

Around them reporters screamed questions, trying to get an answer. Then just ahead, one of them broke free of the fence that was keeping the Capitolites back, and ran straight up to them. "How do you feel now that you're here?" he panted quickly holding a microphone up to Cutter's face. She stared at it, at a complete lost for words. How was she supposed to respond to that? Did this guy even understand that they had sentenced her to death?

Burnet was ready though, and he reached forwards, taking the microphone out of the reporters hands. "We feel like a million bucks," he grinned with a wink. The crowd went wild.

Just as quickly as they had entered the hysteria, they exited it. The tribute building seemed unnaturally quiet once the big heavy doors closed behind them. Cutter glanced over at her District partner. "Thanks," she said quietly, feeling embarrassed for choking with the reporter.

Burnet just shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a savior."

Cutter rolled her eyes, and they all continued walking. The embarrassment was hard for now, but she'd get over it. Next time, she would do better.

* * *

**A/N And there's the end of the train rides. Sorry for the obnoxiously long chapter. I wanted to get everything in. **

**There's a new poll up. Not considering who your favorites are, who do you think has the best chances of winning? This is all based on realism here, again not who your favorite is. Please don't vote for your own tribute. This poll has no effect on the outcome of the Games. I already have all deaths planned, and know who the victor is. This poll is just for kicks. So yeah, until next time. **


	16. Chariot Rides

The Chariot Rides

* * *

Petro sat nervously in the empty styling room as he itched at one of the raw cuts on his wrists. He could feel sweat forming on his brow as the room filled with hot sticky steam from the industrial bath tub on the far wall. He didn't take off his sweat shirt though. His styling team would be showing up soon, and if he took it off, they'd see his scars. It was times like these when he felt the worse. He'd spent the entire morning listening to Mae Themis complaining about him. His District partner's crudeness made him feel even more alone then ever. He just wanted someone to be there for him, and of course that made him think about his mom. Things just went down hill from there.

"Hello?" a cheery voice called, snapping him out of his daze. Petro glanced up to find three exotic looking beings rushing towards him. They were all men, or so he thought. The one who had spoken had long silky pink hair that was slicked back in a sort of mullet. He complimented the hair do with coal-black skin and light pink eyes. His outfit was some sort of eccentric black suit with neon pink high lights.

"Hi," Petro said timidly.

"My name is Felix and this is Julius and Kellen," the man responded, pointing to his two partners. "We're your prep team this year."

"Oh, well, I'm Petro."

"Well of course you are," Julius smiled. His voice slightly feminine, and it fit him well. He was the most metro sexual out of all of them. His frame was slender and his hair was in a short bob with green sparkling high lights in it. His skin was at least light purple.

"Right, well we need you to strip for your bath so we can get to work. We have a lot to do, and we're already late," Kellen said pointing at his watch. Compared to the other two, Kellen seemed monstrous. His shoulders were broad and muscular, and his gaze was intimidating. His make up highlighted the powerful aura he gave off, and though his skin was a slightly too navy to be normal, it fit him.

Petro felt his cheeks go red as he pulled the sleeves of his sweater down lower. "Um, I can bathe myself, if that's okay," he said.

Julius snorted. "We've got a shy one this year. Come on dear, don't be timid. We've seen it all, trust us," he said.

"No really, that's okay, I'm sure your washing soaps aren't too different from what we've got in District Five," Petro insisted, feeling panic rising in his stomach.

"Petro, really, please don't make this difficult," Felix sighed.

Behind him, Kellen had been watching the scene carefully, his eyes trained on Petro's hands. The young tribute was clutching his sleeve so hard that his knuckles were turning white. "What are you hiding kid," Kellen growled, reaching out and grabbing Petro's arm. The boy's feeble attempt's to shake Kellen's iron grip were in vain as he pulled back Petro's sleeve and bared his wrist to all three members of his prep team.

The room went silent, and Petro felt his heart stop. Felix let out a low gasp as they stared at the thin white lines that littered his entire forearm, and then at the scabbing cuts on his wrists. One of the marks was even bleeding slightly, as it hadn't even had time to start healing yet, it was so fresh. Shame welled in his throat, making him feel like he couldn't breathe. He just wanted to go into a nice dark corner and die.

"I'll go get Lupa," Julius muttered quietly. He disappeared, and moments later came back with a short woman with deep red hair and bleached white skin. Her eyes were soft as they settled on Petro's wrists.

"Kellen, Felix, give us a minute alone please," she said solemnly. The two members of his prep team vanished, leaving Petro alone with this Lupa woman, who he assumed was his head stylist. She came over and sat on the bench that was beside the bath tub, signaling for him to join her. He obeyed wordlessly, allowing his hair to fall into his eyes, hiding him slightly.

"May I ask you how long you've been hurting yourself?" she asked softly.

"Long enough," Petro replied.

She put her arm around his shoulder in a motherly gesture. "Petro. I'm not going to ask any more questions. I've just met you right? I can't know that much about your situation or what you've been through. But I need you to understand that my job is to give you an edge so that you can do well. That means I'm going to be fighting for you, but its not going to do any good if you're not fighting for yourself," she said.

Petro looked at the woman, his face twisted in pain. There was a certain quality in her eyes, something soft and comforting. It was the same sort of look his mother used to give him after he'd scrapped his knee or something of that sort. He swallowed hard. He missed his mom so much. This woman sitting next to him was a stranger. How could she ever understand what it was like to cope with memories like his?

"Yeah," Petro muttered to her, keeping his face expressionless.

"Alright, well then let's get you into the bath so that we can start getting you ready for the Chariot Rides... And if you ever need anyone to talk to, don't hesitate to come to me," Lupa said with a sigh. She knew that her words wouldn't stop him from doing more harm just yet. Hopefully though, it was a start.

* * *

Avanna stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes lit up curiously as she examined her outfit. She was a needle, sort of. A thin piece of metallic fabric wrapped around her body. It started at her ankle, looping around her like a needle head. Then it moved up her leg and around her waist. Eventually it made its way all the way over to her arm where it ended at a point on the back of her hand. The rest of her body was covered in what seemed to be a jumpsuit with a yarn pattern onto. So the silver metallic part was the needle and she was the thread. It was a relatively original idea for District Eight, which she appreciated. There was a certain artistic feel to the get up too that suited her too.

"You look good," a kind voice said from behind her. Avanna glanced up to find Cecelia's tired smile staring at her. She smiled back at her mentor. She was happy that she'd gotten Cecelia. Most people talk about how they'd want Lea Paylor mentoring them, but Lea kind of scarred Avanna. She was a hard woman. Cecelia with her motherly aura was a much better fit for Avanna.

"Thanks," Avanna piped.

"We're going to go down then. Dice and Lea are waiting for us," Cecelia said. She put her hand on Avanna's shoulder and gently led her out the door of her styling room. As promised, Lea Paylor and Dice were just outside the door. Dice was dressed identical to her, though she personally didn't think it suited him well. Something about a needle just didn't translate the right sort of intimidating aggression that Dice usually gave off. For a moment, his brooding blue eyes met hers, and her stomach constricted nervously. He didn't sneer though. Instead he gave a gruff grunt of recognition to her before they started heading down the hallway towards the elevator. Perhaps that was a good sign. Some luck for a change couldn't hurt.

Of course, it wasn't by luck that Dice had calmed himself down slightly. Time had done that. He wasn't a raging lunatic, just a little aggressive some times. A good night's sleep had moved him from a stage of burning rage to that of unhappy complacency. He wasn't going to go skipping through a field of daisies any time soon, but he had his emotions under control again. It was a start.

"Remember the strategies we talked about, " Lea lectured sharply as they walked. "This is like your second chance for a first impression. What you do tonight is going to either going to make you noticeable or its going to make you fade into the background, so be careful. Every little twitch is being watched." Dice gave her a strong nod. He respected Lea whole heartedly. It took a strong person to both win the Hunger Games and keep their head on straight. Paylor was a soldier, there was no denying it.

They reached the elevator and pressed the button to take them to the back stage area. It opened and they stepped in.

"Paylor hold the door," someone shouted from down the hallway. With a roll of the eyes, Lea stuck her hand out and kept the door open as four more figures appeared around a corner. Avanna rocked onto her tippy toes to see who was joining them. District Three was walking to join them. Their two tributes- she forgot their names- were dressed as robots, which of course was relatively common for them. This year they had smooth plates of metal curving around their bodies. At each joint the metal creased and bundles of wires were exposed. It really wasn't anything new; although, it was sort of cute on the two young tributes. Two of District Three's victors were with them as well- Sparky Neutro and Gage Crus. She assumed they were mentoring this year.

"Neutro," Lea sighed in greeting.

"Funny seeing you here," Sparky wrinkled his nose.

"Funny, unfortunate, whatever word you want to use," Lea said.

"I think unfortunate would do," he replied.

Auden, who was listening attentively to the two victor's conversation, narrowed her eyes. She didn't quite understand what was going on between them. Their dialogue was decidedly negative. If she heard them on a tape, she'd assume they hated each other, but they were both smirking, clearly amused. It didn't make sense. She wished Ellysia was there to explain it to her, but she was on her own now, completely isolated from all possible sources with whom she might make an idle inquiry with. As Lea and Sparky's short conversation died down, Auden glanced over at District Eight. She wanted to strike up a try talking to them. It was the male who stopped her. If she remembered correctly, he was the one who had to be sedated during the reaping. She didn't want to be rejected again after Avell told her he didn't want to have any allies. Maybe she'd try to talk with someone who seemed less... hostile.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the large back stage area. Twelve chariots were lined underneath the backstage lights. Each one had two dauntingly handsome black horses on standby in front of them. About half the chariots had tributes idling in front of them, and the other half were still empty. Random people drifted throughout the room. Backstage hands, servants, and the occasional Capitolite with a backstage pass roamed around. There was no mistaking who the stars of the show were going to be though. All the tributes were given a wide berth of space. Apparently everyone had been warned: do not disturb.

At the District Eleven chariot, Damien and Cree stood in silence. Chaff stumbled off to go find Haymitch a little while earlier, and Seeder had gotten caught up in a conversation with one of the stage hands. They were both dressed as dirt, which in Cree's opinion was possibly one of the worst designs ever created. It was like all the stylists did was smear brown sparkly goop all over a pixie dress and a suit. Damien wasn't too fond of the outfits either; although, he couldn't vocally complain- he was supposed to be blind after all. Damien had tried starting up a conversation once or twice already, in a few more vain attempts of pulling Cree into an alliance with him. She was preoccupied though. Her eyes were trained like those of a programmed mutt on the elevators as she waited for District One to show up.

When Porcelain Braavos stepped out of the elevator, looking rather elegant in a chic body suit that was encrusted with bright green emeralds. Rubin was close behind her, wearing a very similar outfit, but with blue sapphires instead of emeralds. Cree grinned brightly. "Be back in a minute Damien," she said, deserting the supposedly blind boy without a second thought. With bold confident steps, she walked right up to the two careers.

Rubin saw her coming first. Straightening his back he stepped forwards, ready for the worst. He didn't recognize her in the slightest, which wasn't surprising as she didn't know his face by memory either. He had his heart set on the position of pack leader though. He couldn't waste any time seizing the role before someone else took it from him, particularly the pair from District Two.

"Can I help you?" he asked Cree.

"What you don't recognize me?" she smirked back. "My name's Cree, I used to train at the academy."

"You're dad's a peacekeeper?" Porcelain interjected from behind Rubin.

"Yeah, that's why I'm in District Eleven," Cree nodded, wrinkling her nose at the thought.

Porcelain smiled sweetly, quickly extending her arms out and enveloping Cree into an unsuspecting hug. "Oh dear, it's nice to see you again. It must have been so awful in District Eleven, away from all of us civil people. You'll be a career of course," she said. Cree could feel her heart singing in joy and relief as she returned the hug. It felt good to be back in respectable company.

Rubin looked between Porcelain and Cree carefully, gauging their familiarity closely. This could be good for them. It might mean having three District One careers as opposed to two this year. As for Porcelain, well, she knew that Cree would feel most comfortable around her. She wouldn't let the chance she had go to waste.

"I guess we should go meet the others then," Rubin said, clearing his throat. He nodded towards the other chariots, and the girls followed his gaze. District Two hadn't shown up yet, but District Four had. They were both dressed up as sea weed with wavy green leaves climbing their way up their bodies. Both of their hair had been died green, and the boy was wearing dark sunglasses, despite the fact that they were inside. Right, Rubin reminded himself, he's blind. He wondered if he planned on being in the alliance. Rubin wasn't in the position to deny him that right, it'd be an insult to District Four if he did which would cause all sorts of political drama. No, Airin la Aguilla would be allowed in the career pack, whether he deserved it or not.

"After you," Porcelain purred.

Rubin didn't have to be asked twice. He walked boldly over to their chariot, holding his head high. To his surprise, it was the blind boy that noticed him first. The two District Four tributes were both laughing- one of them must have told some kind of joke. The boy's laughter died down first though and he cocked his head to the side.

"Hey Rocio, we've got company," he said, a smile growing on his face. Rocio turned to see District One approaching, and she straightened stiffly. So things were beginning then.

"Oh, hi," she greeted with a nervous laugh.

"Hi," Rubin nodded. "My name's Rubin, and this is Porcelain and Cree we thought we'd come over and say hi."

"Forming the career pack right off the bat then?" Airin said, rocking back on his feet. An amused look played across his feet. Confidence radiated from his person, making Rubin marvel in silence. he most certainly didn't come off as weak as he expected the blind kid to be.

"Guess you could say that," Rubin nodded.

"Well we're both in, in case you were wondering. Just to make that clear," Airin said. Rocio was silent beside him. It was better that she let him do most of the talking. If she was the one discussing the career pack, she might slip up and let them know that she didn't want to be here, that she despised all that her newly acquired allies were raised on. She doubted that'd go over well. It was kind of funny actually. She'd been babying Airin throughout the entire train ride. Now she was letting him take the lead all too willingly.

"Never thought that you wouldn't be," Rubin brushed off good-naturedly.

"So Cree, where's your District partner? Is Two only sending one tribute to the pack this year?" Airin asked curiously. Cree stared at him for a second before realizing that he couldn't see that she obviously wasn't from Two. He was just jumping to conclusions based on her name.

"Oh, I'm not from-" she started.

"I hope you're not replacing me now," someone interrupted. Alexis Hayden- looking powerful in a shiny granite dusted rock dress- walked into the circle with a smirk on her face as she noticeably sized Cree up. "Because this outer district dirt isn't going to be able to compare." Cree's eyes flashed up at the girl in annoyance.

"No one's replacing anyone," Rubin said quickly. "Cree used to live in District One before her father's work moved her to Eleven. She trained at the academy. She's a no brainer for the pack, that's all. We usually take a few outer District strengths to help out anyways."

"Uh huh," Alexis said. It was at that point that Vlad appeared by her side, also in a rock costume, completing the group assembly. His eyes immediately on Rubin, a challenge already surfacing in their depths. "She's in on your word then."

"Yeah, she is," Rubin nodded. Cree straightened a little beside him. She appreciated that he was fighting for her; although, she could've stuck up for herself.

"Goody, we're all friends now," Porcelain smirked. It wasn't entirely clear whether she was being sarcastic or not.

The careers continued their uneasy conversation with varying levels of competitiveness, genuine kindness, and hostility. From a distance, Zea Bachmeier watched with a small smirk growing on her face. A serious glow was present in her eyes as she examined their movements. Their circle radiated tension which was good for her. An uneasy career pack was always a better one. It meant they'd start killing each other earlier.

"They should start things soon," Ghram whined from beside her. She turned around, so that she was facing forwards in her chariot.

"You shouldn't be so excited for things to start. The minute we go live all of your friends and family back at home get to see the ridiculous outfits we're wearing," she said with a sigh. Ghram looked down at his costume, as if the thought was just dawning on him. They were both dressed up as bushels of wheat. Long golden strands of grain encased them. A hole was cut out for their heads, and then also for each of their arms. She still felt incredibly hindered though. If either of them fell down, she doubted that they'd be able to get back to their feet.

"When I win, they'll all forget about this," Ghram muttered nervously, more to console himself than to tell Zea off. She rolled her eyes.

Suddenly a loud voice came blaring down from above. "All tributes to their chariots. All tributes to their chariots. Event starts in five minutes," a mechanical recording called out.

In front of them, Zea watched as District Eight who had been lingering on the ground with their mentors and stylists, stepped up to their chariots. Behind them District Ten was already standing at the ready. They were dressed up as sheep, much to the dismay of Ranger and Whisper. Whisper wanted to know what kind of message their stylists were trying to send here. Sheep were well-known for their lack of individuality and leadership. It was like the two of them screamed dumb and useless in these outfits.

With a jolt, the chariots began to move slowly, and District One was launched into the open. Several chariots behind them, Kan gripped onto a handle bar attached to the inside of the chariot nervously. "Here we go," he whispered to Rowan. She swallowed and shot him a distressed understanding look. At least their costumes were decent this year. They'd parted from the traditional tree outfit and progressed to a more original leaf man costume. It wasn't amazing, but at least they were something slightly different, unlike District Twelve for instance who was dressed in coal miner outfits yet again.

The horses slowly picked up speed as the chariots in front of them each disappeared from the back stage area. Before they knew it, they were riding full speed out into the arena. Capitolites cheered wildly for the tributes as they gushed and threw flowers. Rowan's mouth dropped open, and Kan smiled at her. It was hard not to be overwhelmed by it all. It was hard to believe that all these people were coming for them. Then again, people usually did become more interesting when their life had a rapidly approaching expiration date.

The crowd started laughing out of nowhere, and Kan looked around distressed. Oh no, what had he done?

They weren't laughing at him though. In front of them, Dust was putting on a show. He and Crescent were both dressed as vagabonds, as their stylists put it, because they were always traveling. Really though, Dust thought they looked more like disheveled homeless people with oversized shoes and jackets with holes in them. It sort of fit though. Dust did fancy himself a vagabond for a long stretch of time.

They were about half way down the stretch when he decided to have some fun. Beside him Crescent had been shrinking underneath the bright lights. Her eyes were dark and finicky as she muttered to herself like some sort of creep. Her brooding was hurting his turn in the spotlight. No matter how interesting he tried to be, she was killing any excitement surrounding their chariot. So he decided to cheer her up. Slinging his arm around her shoulder, he pulled her closer. With an alarmed expression, she staggered for a second. The crowd went wild, many of them giggling at his antics.

Then Crescent sent him the most disturbing death glare. Needless to say, he let go, laughing a little at himself. Geez, she was creepy. It was just his luck to get the freakish District partner.

The twelve chariots made one solid loop before pulling to a stop in front of the President's podium. Cameras snapped in every direction, and all of the tributes reacted. Avell stood on his tip toes, waving his hand like an excited child. Mae smirked, confident that they already loved her. Ranger looked around, wavering between icy coldness and downright hostility. Cutter was expressionless.

And in that moment, for better or worse, the first impression had been made.

* * *

**A/N So in case you haven't noticed, I did this chapter a bit differently than I did last time. It wasn't separated into four or five different POV's, ****instead I did it in one shot. I think I'll be doing the entire story this way from here on out. It allows me to get into more tribute's heads in any individual chapter, and it sort of flows more. For example in Fading to Darkness, the Chariot Rides chapter had five POVs. This chapter I probably got in a small thought from almost all of the tributes. So yeah, this is how I'm doing things from now on. **

** On another note, I'm not telling the results of the predicted victor poll yet. Why? 'Cause only eight people voted, and I got sixteen voters in the favorite character vote. So to all of you faithful readers out there: Go vote. **

**Until next time. **


	17. Training Day One

Training Day 1

* * *

Ranger woke up to the sound of someone incessantly knocking on the door to her room. With an annoyed groan she rolled over and glared at her intruder through the door.

"Ranger, get up," Madison Fey called. She sounded impatient, but that wasn't anything new. Madison was possibly just as cold a person as Ranger was.

"I'm up," Ranger growled back irritated. She glanced over at the clock on her dresser. It was relatively early in the morning, and Ranger wasn't thrilled about it. She used to wake up every day at four in the morning to start her work with the dogs; however, now that the Capitol decided that she was their puppet, she thought it was her right to sleep in a little. Apparently not though.

"Training starts soon. Hurry," Madison pestered.

Quickly, she threw on the training attire someone had laid out for her. It was just a black t-shirt with the number Ten stitched onto the sleeve, a pair of black stretchy athletic pants, and some heavy boots. It felt nice to finally be wearing some Capitol cloths that were actually practical.

Swinging the door open, Ranger found Madison waiting with a scowl plastered on her face as she leaned lazily against the hallway wall. "Morning sunshine," she said sarcastically. Ranger just glared at the woman, as she forced herself not to say something biting back. _What would Hadyn what you to do? _she reminded herself. Madison turned and led her down the hallway into the main room where Whisper was waiting.

Her district partner was sitting at the table, pushing cereal around his bowl as he stared absently at nothing. Eve Catter was beside him, chattering about who-knows-what. At least Eve wasn't her mentor. She'd take Madison's sullen bitterness over happy-go-lucky Eve any day. Sucks to be Whisper.

"Good morning," Eve smiled warmly at Ranger. "I was worried Madison had forgotten about you. Want something for breakfast quickly before we go?"

Ranger grimaced as she remembered the grueling stomach ache that the Capitol food had given her the day before. She couldn't afford to get one of those during training. "I'm fine," she said.

"M'kay, then Whisper are you ready?" Eve said, popping onto her feet.

Whisper's eyes snapped upwards as his entire body jumped, startled. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm ready," he muttered, pushing his half empty bowl away. Nodding, Eve led the other three members of the District Ten team out of the room to the elevator, and pushed a round button that was appropriately labeled "T". With a gentle rumble, they began to descend towards the basement.

"Alright, now remember what Madison and I told you two. You need to hit all of the survival stations before you touch any of the weapons. Knives and swords are self explanatory, and you can use them without any training. If you find a plant that you're not sure is edible, nobody is going to be there to help you," Eve instructed quickly.

"You make it sound like they have a chance," Madison mumbled, rolling her eyes.

Whisper shot the woman an annoyed glance. "You are possibly the most helpful person in this entire building," he said sarcastically.

"I try," Madison smirked back.

With a light ping, the elevator opened up to reveal the training center. Most of the tributes were gathered in a small blob in the center of the room, waiting around as an authoritative woman with olive colored skin watched over them. Around them though was a wide array of stations, all being manned by a trainer. Ranger smirked. At the very least, she had to admit, this was impressive. If she had a millennium to study, she would be able to enter the arena prepared for anything. Unfortunately, three days would have to do.

The woman watching the tributes smiled as Ranger and Whisper joined the crowd. "Good now that you're all here, I can give you all the intro talk," she began. Ranger sighed, as she waited through the following fifteen minute talk on rules. It wasn't like they didn't already know them already. Right now, Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templeton where probably reviewing the procedures on the news with all of Panem. It was something they aired every year. "Just remember that advice, and good luck," the woman finally finished.

Ranger grinned as she made a bee-line towards the weapons rack. She didn't quite care what Eve Catter had said. In the end, only fighting was going to save her.

Around Ranger, everyone was scattering. District Twelve headed over to the fire making station. Avell from District Three ran straight to the battle strategy trainer. District Six's Crescent promptly ducked into a dark corner, ignoring all of the stations completely.

Meanwhile, Rubin from District One spun around and called all of those in the career pack for a meeting. Vad Pekelo eyed the District One tribute with an unpleasant frown on his face. He didn't like that Rubin had declared himself leader without consulting anyone, and he really didn't like that no one was challenging him. Not that he expected much more from a leech like the District Eleven girl or from District Four who appeared to be rather weak willed this year, but Alexis could at least challenge One a little more.

"I wanted to just sort of get oriented," Rubin said, leaning back as everyone gathered around him. "We've all been introduced right?"

"Yeah," Rocio answered. Vlad glanced over at the girl, feeling rather annoyed still. She was rather quick to try and please, like she was making up for something. "We've all met."

"Good, well then we should talk about any other additions to the alliance quickly before we started training. I think we should take on one, maybe two more tributes. Having two extra talented tributes should give the seven of us a good edge. I'm not saying we should pick anyone out now, but I think it'd be a good thing to start thinking about," Rubin said.

"I disagree," Vlad said. "Having extra tributes with us will make the alliance too big. We already have one add on. We need to get rid of the tough competition early, having the good competitors on our team isn't going to help anyone. The weaklings are all going to die on their own accord anyways. Why create an army to slaughter ants?"

Rubin's eyebrows snapped up in surprise. Clearly he wasn't expecting any opposition. Vlad smirked. If Rubin thought he'd follow him like a mindless sheep, he had something else coming to him. Vlad was a fighter.

"You've seen the competition this year haven't you? There would still be plenty of big competitors to kill even if we snagged an extra man or two," Rubin pointed out quickly.

"But obviously the biggest competitors would be off limits, unless you planned on allying with some sub par tributes," Vlad said. He sent a not so subtle glance towards Airin, although, the District Four tribute was oblivious to it.

The amount of testosterone raging in the room was palpable.

"It couldn't hurt to have a few extra hands around," Airin said lightly. His tone betrayed a certain amount of ignorance. It was as if he thought the conversation was a simple debate and not a power struggle. Rubin and Vlad didn't even bother breaking eye contact to acknowledge this new input.

"I agree with Vlad," Alexis finally chimed in, her voice definitive. "No extra tributes."

Rubin's cheeks went slightly red, but for whatever reason, it seemed like the final word had been spoken. Obviously Alexis's vote mattered much more than Airin's feeble attempt to agree with Rubin. It actually bothered Airin quite a bit that he was being ignored, but he didn't say anything. That argument could wait for later, possibly after he had proven his worth at the weapon's station.

As Vlad took the initiative to start towards the stations, Rubin glanced towards Porcelain. "Thanks for the back up," he said.

Porcelain just smiled sweetly. "Sorry dear, but you have to pick your fights," she said. Her eyes drank in the sight of Rubin's red cheeks and annoyed pout. She was enjoying herself.

"Sorry, I should have said something," Cree said regretfully.

Rubin sighed. "It's alright. Hopefully he's just not going to be a problem later," he said. The two girls nodded in agreement, and they all turned to follow the others to the weapons.

Whilst the careers were chatting, Ghram from District Nine had been surveying the weapons station. Almost immediately he had gone for the brass knuckles, trying them on to see how they felt. He was weighing them in his hand when District Two showed up. The girl's shoulder bumped into his as she passed him.

"Oops sorry," she smirked innocently. He knew it was no accident though. If only Miles and the gang was with him, he'd show her what pain felt like, even if she was a girl. Unfortunately they were back at home. He felt unnaturally exposed without their hulking presence beside him. He was a perfectly good fighter himself of course, but there was something comforting about Feek or Silo's beefy bodies standing next to him.

Sighing, Ghram shoved the brass knuckles back onto the rack. He liked old-fashioned fighting better anyways, and he wanted to get out of the weapons area before the rest of the careers showed up. Walking over to the middle of the room, he surveyed the area, looking to join someone at one of the stations. It was District Twelve that caught his eye. He wasn't particularly interested in fire-building; however, the boy there was laughing pretty loudly. It was sort of infectious. Ghram figured that learning his way around a fire couldn't hurt. Walking over to the station, he smiled nervously.

"Mind if I join you two," he asked.

The girl barely had the chance to process her thoughts before the boy was scooting over and patting the spot next to him. "Sure Nine. Grab some flint, and try not to burn yourself," he grinned easily.

"Burn myself? Come on, it doesn't look that hard, Twelve," Ghram smirked, taking a seat.

"You say that now," the boy rolled his eyes.

As Ghram began to try to create a spark with the little black rocks the trainer had given him, he tried to carry on the conversation. "The name is Ghram, by the way, not Nine," he introduced himself.

"You look like a Nine to me," the boy smiled. "But my name is Burnet, and this is Cutter."

"I'd say nice to meet you, but I think I would have rather have stayed home," Ghram said.

"Well then," Burnet said, holding up his hands jokingly. "Be that way."

Ghram rolled his eyes as he started to work with the flint, finding it much harder than he thought it would be. The tributes made this look much easier on the television in previous years in the Hunger Games. After a half an hour of hard work intermixed with some idle chatting, he managed to make a small spark. With a triumphant grin, he leaped to rapidly cupped his hands around the bundle of straw, blowing on it gently just like the trainer had showed him.

"I've got it, I've got it," he cried victoriously.

"You do not," Burnet said, looking up in disbelief.

"Did too, look," Ghram said.

Burnet's mouth dropped open, but it was quickly replaced by a mischievous grin. "Go get the trainer to get some real wood before it goes out," he instructed. Ghram nodded, running to the trainer hurriedly. When he returned, the straw had suspiciously stopped smoking. He glared at Burnet.

"Jerk."

The boy from Twelve just laughed good-naturedly. "Hey do you wrestle?" he asked curiously.

"Wrestle?" Ghram raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm pretty good in a fist fight, but I've never exactly done a formal wrestling match before."

"Cool, let's go to the close combat station then. It'll be more fun than this. I think I've had enough fire making for one day," he said.

"Sure," Ghram grinned.

The two boys rose to their feet to go off to the close combat section. Cutter hastily scrambled to her feet too. She didn't like that Ghram had come over to join them. She felt like he was stealing her District partner. The two boys definitely related to each other better than they did to her. It wasn't a good sign for her. She thought that Burnet might have been good alliance material.

"You're coming too?" Burnet asked confused when he saw her moving to follow them.

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?" she asked suddenly feeling defensive. What was wrong with him?

"No not at all. Um, it's just that, girls don't usually like wrestling you know? I mean, from experience, guys are just better at it," Burnet said innocently.

Cutter stared at him completely lost for words. "You two go have fun," she said, deciding not to even bother. There was no responding to what he just said.

"M'kay, you sure you're okay here by yourself?" Burnet checked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Cutter said. She didn't move until the boys were already at the close combat station, beginning to receive instruction. _Well,_ she thought, _It looks like I'll be finding another alliance._

* * *

Avell tapped his fingers against the table as he waited beside Auden for the Avoxes to bring the food out. After a morning of long hard work, the tributes had all been called into a cafeteria adjacent to the training center for lunch. They would be eating sandwiches momentarily, before being sent back out into the training room. It was a good system. For some of his peers, every moment in that room could mean another moment in the arena. As for himself, well, he had his strengths and weaknesses, but for a twelve year old, he felt pretty good about his standings. He knew his way around that room better than just about everyone except the careers.

"Um, have you had fun so far?" Auden asked, finally deciding to break the silence at their lonely table.

"Yeah, the stuff they have here is amazing," Avell answered honestly. "You?"

She hesitated, looking struck that he'd actually bothered to ask her the same question. Her eyebrows knitted carefully, as she formulated a response. She was odd that way. He knew she was trying very hard to make friends though. She was talking with the District Ten boy earlier that day, but he got the impression that he didn't like company much. Thus she had resorted to hanging around Avell. He didn't mind though. District partner bonds were an integral part of the Hunger Games. Just because he didn't want her or anybody as an ally didn't mean they couldn't sit together at lunch.

"No," Auden decided after her lengthy deliberation. "I wouldn't call this fun at all."

Avell snorted, amused. "I guess you haven't found your niche yet then. You should try the history station. It's in the corner, by the dust bunnies. I don't know why they've got it here, but I checked it out earlier. It's all history from the dark days and before then. Like they go back to before electricity existed, it's really weird. I'm not wasting my time with the stuff, but you might like it. You're pretty good with memorization and math stuff right?"

"No no," Auden hastily replied. "I'm no good with that stuff." Her response was too rushed to be honest.

Suddenly, a new voice broke up their little party. "Do you mind if I sit here?" the boy from District Eleven asked.

Avell looked up at the boy critically. Great, he was the outer district blind kid. He even had an Avox accompanying him just to show everyone how blatantly weak he was. Avel had never seen such a blatant bloodbath label. At least the District Four guy had the cushion of being a career. He had some training, and was in a position that no one would target him being the least threatening member of the career pack. The boy from Eleven though, he was just flat out doomed.

"No, we don't mind," Auden answered quickly and eagerly. Avell glanced at her in disbelief. She couldn't possibly be thinking what he thought she was thinking. Of all people to go for an alliance... She must be more desperate than he thought.

"Thanks," the boy said. "My District partner has made some other friends, so I'm kind of alone. I'm Damien by the by."

"How unfortunate," Avell muttered to himself.

Just as Damien took his seat, the servants poured out of the kitchen, carrying silver platters of every type of sandwich to ever exist. Avell's eyes lit up as he watched them come. He felt like a king, being served like this, and nobody could deny that it was a good feeling.

"My name is Auden and this is Avell, my district partner," Auden responded after the servants left.

"I take it you're allies?" Damien smiled sweetly. Avell held back a snort. The weasel wasn't taking his time cutting to the chase. Poor Auden was completely oblivious.

"No we're just friends. I'm not making any alliances for the arena. I'm perfectly fine on my own," Avell retorted. Auden's eyes were suddenly boring into his side. He figured it was the friend comment. He gathered that friendships meant a lot to her, and though it was a stretch calling her a friend, he figured that it wouldn't hurt anyone if he made her day.

"Sorry to hear that," Damien replied. His eyes were sympathetic, though they were oddly unfocused. It was weird actually, but Avell shrugged the feeling away. It wasn't like he'd ever met a blind person before anyway.

"Yeah," Auden said, sounding crestfallen.

"I could be your ally, you know," Damien said. The boy's eye brows were raised, and a smile was stretched across his face. He was the picture of genuine kindness, actually. Avell couldn't let the conversation go on any longer though.

"That's enough," Avell said strongly. "I think you should go."

"What?" Auden cried. She looked absolutely panicked.

"I'm sorry Auden. I know you really want an ally, but I can't let you throw your life away. At the very least, you need to find someone who will have your back. This guy is going to be a burden to everyone he's around. No offense dude, but it's true. Auden, you can do better, trust me. There is someone in this room who will take you in. You're smart, able-bodied, and honest. It doesn't matter how awkward you are because in the Hunger Games people aren't looking for friends, they're looking for someone to keep them safe. It's what this guy wants, and it's something you're perfectly capable of doing. But it's a two way street. They need to be able to protect you too. Otherwise the alliance is no good. Don't degrade yourself by saying yes to this guy," Avell said exasperated. He stared at her intently, willing her to receive his message.

Auden stared at him, her mouth open, and a look of sadness in her eyes. She was at a complete loss for words. She couldn't believe he cared enough to give her such a speech. "Okay," she said.

"Okay?" Avell replied, feeling the relief already.

"Yeah, okay."

Turning to Damien, Avell picked up a cocky smirk. "I think you should leave now," he said simply.

Damien felt the shock and irritation rising in his chest. Who did this kid think he was? He had been so close to securing his place as victor. All he needed was an ally. That's it. This Auden girl was perfect. She was insecure. She wanted him as much as he needed her. He should have approached her when she was alone.

"I guess I'll go ask District Five if I can sit with them," he mumbled to himself. Picking up his plate he walked away trying to subdue the irate anger that was bubbling his stomach.

The second he was gone, Auden turned to Avell and gave him the most grateful look she'd ever given anyone. "Thank you," she said. "It meant a lot."

He rolled his eyes. "Anytime."

* * *

The end of lunch was announced with the sound of a bell. The tributes all got up and began to filter back into the main training room. Everyone except for Crescent that is, who chose to remain seated in the cafeteria despite the fact that they had turned the lights off in there. The game makers didn't even bother trying to force her into the main room. They were quite confident that training wasn't going to affect the level of entertainment that she offered the crowd, judging by her mutterings.

Back in the training room, the tributes were returning to their previous stations and discovering some different ones. District Seven specifically was making a point to try a new skill every hour on the hour. Scanning the room, the pair debated what they should try next.

"We have to hit the weapons today," Rowan said, glancing over at the career ridden station. The seven pack members hadn't left the station all morning, and they had been making every tribute who ventured over there feel small and inept. The boy from Two specifically had been making a point to train with the same weapon that any unwelcome visitors were using. The difference in skill was so obvious, he was basically humiliating just about everyone in the room. The boy from One joined in the fray occasionally too, then it was suddenly a competition between the two career boys to see who could do better. Nobody left that station feeling comfortable.

"The careers are still there though," Kan muttered unhappily.

"They're going to be there all day at this point," Rowan said. "We're just going to have to tough it out."

Kan sighed, knowing that she was right. "We'll do it next after the camouflage station. Remember you said we could try it out?"

"Alright, but we need to learn how to fight after that?" Rowan agreed. "Nothing is going to help us if we can't get passed the bloodbath."

The two tributes walked over to the station that was set up with an array of paints and a fake forest. A trainer was standing in front of it with a tribute, going through some kind of demonstration. Kan could see the patch on the girl's arm from where he stood- it was an eight. "Who's District Eight female?" he whispered to Rowan under his breath. She had gone through the burden of memorizing everyone's name and district. That way in the arena, they'd be able to keep track of everyone. Kan would have committed the names to memory too, except that reading and memorizing wasn't his thing.

"Avanna Welcher," she whispered back. He nodded, repeating the name silently to himself.

"Are you two going to be joining us?" the trainer asked when she noticed them. She looked rather happy to be having a bigger audience.

"If you don't mind," Rowan said. The woman nodded towards Avanna, who stepped to the side with a smile, making room for them.

"I was just demonstrating how to blend yourself in with a bed of rocks," she explained. "It's a relatively involved process, if you're willing to listen. You never know too. Most overlook my station, but I've seen it save several victor's lives."

"I'm sure it's the most important one here," Kan smiled. Most of the trainers had given them a similar spiel when they had visited the other station. Kan liked humoring them though. It made them look happy.

"Yes it is," the woman beamed. "Now if you'll look over here at what Avanna from District Eight is doing. Oh..."

The woman stopped mid sentence as she glanced at Avanna. The girl had abandoned the natural materials that the woman had set out for her, and stolen a brush with silver and grey paint. In just the short time, she had transformed a square inch of the back of her hand completely. The trainer's face was slightly sour, as the girl had ventured away from instruction. Kan, however, was quite amazed. He gazed at the patch in wonder. It actually looked like a steely grey rock was growing out of her hand.

He wanted to interrupt her concentration to talk to her, but that almost felt criminal. Avanna's face was serene as she gazed peacefully at her work, completely engrossed. Her mouth was upturned in a small smile, and her bright eyes were supremely focused. He knew immediately that he would like her.

"That's awesome," he said pointing at her hand.

She looked up, snapping back to reality. "Thanks," she smiled kindly, blushing slightly.

"No really, I wish I could do that," he said.

"It's not that hard," Avanna said. "The trick is just picking out the colors from the rock. It's kind of sparkly, so you have to be able to look past the sheen and try and get the exact tone."

Rowan glanced at her District partner, picking up on his friendly vibe. "So like that rock has a silver sheen and that one is more red?" she asked, pointing at some of the terrain spots.

Avanna nodded. "Yes, exactly," she grinned. "They're beautiful aren't they? The rocks I mean. I love the way they glitter. We don't have that many rocky areas in Eight, everything is so industrialized."

"Really? We've got tons of rocks and trees in Seven. Do we even have a real city?" Kan asked, looking at Rowan. She shook her head.

"Everyone needs to be spread out so we can cut the trees systematically. There's no way we could all live in one place and stay in the lumber industry," she said.

"I guess that makes sense," Kan nodded.

"Eight is basically like living in one huge city. We just have one huge network of streets that connect everyone, and we have factories everyone. Sometimes when it rains , the water droplets will be the color of ashes, and they'll pool on the road. It's kind of a sad sight actually, but it's home. Anyway, it doesn't always look depressing. Some days you'll see something and it will just take your breath away."

Kan nodded, thinking about his line of work and all of the rather unattractive injuries he had seen. Putting those experiences aside though, Seven was a relatively attractive place. Things were very... natural looking.

"That's cool," Rowan commented.

"You want me to help do your hands like mine?" Avanna asked, pointing to her patch of art.

Kan nodded eagerly and she scooted closer. Suddenly, one hour, stretched into two. Avanna guided the two of them through the activity with her steady artist hand. All three managed to transform their arms into spectacles of the earth. Avanna's, of course, was the most impressive; however, Kan and Rowan still had pretty impressive showings for having such little experience. Before the three knew it, the head trainer was ringing the warning bell. They only had a half an hour left before they had to report back to their rooms. Kan laughed. "So Rowan, about those weapons," he smiled.

"You two were going to practice with the weapons?" Avanna asked, looking guilty she had held them up.

"First thing tomorrow," Rowan sighed.

"Think you'll want to join us Avanna? It'll be less scary in front of the careers if there are more of us," he asked.

Avanna smiled, warmed to the core that she had found some friends. After the failure of a relationship she had with Dice, she was worried that she wasn't going to find anyone. "Yeah. It'll be fun," she grinned.

"I wouldn't use the word fun," Rowan sighed. "But it'll be something."

"Everything here is something else. Why should training be any different?" Kan pointed out.

"Because we deserve a break?" Avanna offered.

"Life isn't really big on giving people like us breaks," Rowan grimaced.

"Not yet," Avanna corrected.

Rowan glanced upwards. She'd almost forgotten she was among optimists. She supposed that it wasn't such a bad thing though. At this point, she could use a little optimism in her life. They all could.

* * *

**A/N There's training day one. Up next is training day two. In the mean time I've got the poll results for predicted victor for you.**

**So the clear favorite for victor is Dust Lectart from D6 with 5 votes**

**In 2nd is Crescent Lollium also from D6 with 3 votes**

**In 3rd we have Rubin, Vlad, Dice, Ranger, Whisper, Cree and Damien.**

**In 4th we have Alexis, Avell, and Rocio who all got 1 vote.**

**Everyone else (Porcelain, Auden, Airin, Mae, Petro, Rowan, Kan, Avanna, Zea, Ghram, Cutter, and Burnet) didn't get any votes.**

**On a completely unrelated note, I changed my penname. Some people do that every other week, but I hate changing it. I think it gets confusing keeping track of whos who when the user changes their name every other day. So to avoid confusion, I don't change mine. However Atalltale was sort of awkward when trying to shorten into a colloquial name. So now I'm TallTalesInk. You can call me Tales or Ink for short. I don't plan on changing my ****pen name again (that's why I thought it was worth noting).**

**Any who, until next time.**


	18. Training Day Two

Training Day 2

* * *

Cutter watched Burnet walk off with Ghram for the second day in a row with a feeling of disappointment in her stomach. There was no denying it now. The two boys were in an official alliance, and she wasn't a part of it. That meant she couldn't waste any time today. She had to find her own alliance, one that didn't involve her District partner. She supposed it wasn't a bad thing. In the past she had always preferred being in charge, and if she initiated the alliance, that would put her in a leadership position. The trick was going to be finding other tributes that took her seriously. She was on the younger end of the age scale, meaning she wouldn't be an obvious person for others to follow.

With a sigh, she made her way over to the ropes, ready to try something new. District Five was already there. The girl was chatting away whilst the boy stood beside her looking small.

"That's probably the stupidest thing I've heard you say so far," the girl scoffed as the trainer strapped a harness around her.

"Sorry," the boy mumbled. "It was just a suggestion."

"I swear, did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby? I mean I've met a lot of dense people in District Five. It is kind of hard to meet people on the same intellectual level as me, but you might have just usurped my parents and taken first place," she snorted. The boy flinched and he looked at his feet. He didn't even make a retort the girl's insults. It was like he just accepted them as truth or something.

Cutter had only been standing in line for a few seconds and she already knew that she was going to brutally hate the girl from Five. She reminded Cutter of a certain heinously obnoxious classmate from back at home. Thankfully, she began running the ropes course before she said anything else. Cutter watched with a smirk on her face as the young girl struggled to hold her weight on the unsteady netting.

"Is she always like that?" Cutter asked the boy.

He looked at her, startled slightly before settling back down. "Oh, Mae? Yeah, it's just how she is," he replied.

Cutter looked the boy up and down, evaluating him carefully. He was younger, though definitely not the youngest in the training center, and he was clearly a little insecure about himself at the moment. She knew immediately that he fit her profile perfectly. "Well you shouldn't listen to her. Clearly she's got some unresolved issues or something," Cutter declared with a friendly smile.

The boy looked at her with a shadow of a gratefulness in the depths of his eyes. "Thanks," he said, his face stretching into a wide smile. "I cut her a little slack though. I think she's just a little upset that she got reaped, and she's taking it out on everyone around her. You should've seen what she said to my mentor during the train rides."

Cutter snorted. "I hope she's not expecting too many sponsors then," she said.

The boy shrugged, and tugged on the sleeves of his shirt. Huh, Cutter wondered why he had a long sleeves. It must be some odd decision on his stylist's end. Whatever. Up ahead, the girl from Five finally fell onto the floor, and walked to the back of the line with a sour look on her face. The boy proceeded wordlessly onto the ropes. He wasn't as bad as the girl was; although, it was pretty clear that he wasn't in the best shape in the world. None of them had exactly had time to worry about fitness back at home.

A few minutes later, Cutter took her turn on the course. She was better than both of the District Five tributes as she nimbly pulled herself higher and higher from the ground. When she reached the top platform a few minutes later with a huge grin on her face, she could hear clapping from down below. She glanced at the floor to see the boy wave at her. His district partner glared at him, and said something Cutter couldn't hear. He stopped clapping after she snapped, and it annoyed Cutter thoroughly.

As the trainer lowered her back down, she could already feel the confrontation bubbling in her chest. "I hope you know that you don't own your district partner," she told the girl, Mae.

Mae looked quite taken aback by Cutter's biting comment. "And who do you think you are?" she said.

"A much nicer person than you," Cutter responded.

Mae's face twisted immediately into one of rage. "I'm perfectly nice thank you very much. Ask Petro, he'll tell you. And I know I don't own him. I wouldn't want to anyway," Mae said.

Cutter didn't acknowledge that the girl had even spoken. Instead she turned to the boy, Petro. "You want to come do the other obstacle course with me?" she asked boldly. The boy looked up at her with reserved distrust in his eyes. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to escape Mae all morning, but on the other hand, he'd only exchanged a few errant words with. He wasn't looking for an alliance. He knew that no one would really want to ally with him. At least, not for the right reasons.

"If you go with her," Mae fumed as she looked at him expectantly.

It was those words that made the decisions for him. "I've wanted to get around to that obstacle course for a little while anyways," he mumbled. Cutter grinned, taking his hand and pulling him along, leaving a fuming Mae behind them. "I'm not looking for an alliance though," he whispered once they were out of Mae's earshot.

Cutter glanced at him. "No problem. We're just hanging out right now. No alliances," she agreed. He relaxed, tolerating this girl for the few days during training wouldn't be so bad.

On the other side of the room, Whisper was sitting by himself in the corner, playing with a knife. He had taken great care when he had arrived to pocket one of the weapons before the careers arrived. Now he could get some knife practice in without being pestered by the intimidating careers from One and Two. He had been considering going without the weapons training, but in hindsight he was glad he snagged the knife. It was clear just from holding it in his hand that it had been engineered differently than the simple pocket knives he was used to. It was lighter for one, and the edge was sharper. He flipped it around in his palm, getting a feel for it's weight.

"You're in my spot," a dark voice said.

Whisper glanced up, he saw the pale ginger haired girl from Six staring at him venomously. He raised an eyebrow at her, frowning. "Really? I wasn't aware you had sole ownership of all dark corners," Whisper rolled his eyes.

She didn't answer, instead she just stood there. Her stormy brown eyes darkened, boring into the boy from Ten. "Please move," she said again.

"There's another empty spot over there if you want to be alone. Now I'm here, go away please," Whisper replied, returning her glare.

He swore her eye twitched in response. With a deep scowl on her face, the girl sunk down so that she was crouching on the balls of her feet. She stuck her face forwards so that her nose was almost touch Whisper's. He could feel her breath blowing against his cheeks. "I said move. My friends are here," she demanded.

"Alright, alright," Whisper said hastily jumping to his feet before she got any closer. "Be creepy by yourself if you want to."

Whisper stormed away, feeling an odd chill run down his spine. He knew one thing: that girl was off her rocker.

* * *

Lunch approached quickly, as usual, and the careers made their way into the cafeteria. The District divisions were eminent as usual. Vlad and Rubin walked out in front, each flanked by their district partner. Cree was hovering in Porcelain's shadow, and District Four was exiled a few feet behind them all. The disadvantage that Finnick Odair's victory hung heavy on Airin's shoulders. He had been highly aware that basically everyone except Rocio was ignoring him, and it bothered him immensely.

It would have been one thing if they just thought he was weak because of his disability. That wasn't it though. Rocio was getting the same exact treatment as him. The only difference was that she didn't really seem to care. No, they were discriminating against them because of Finnick. It was as simple as that. They hated each other, but the mutual agreement that District Four wasn't going to have a victor this year allied them against him. Of course, they were still all a part of the alliance. In the arena, they wouldn't slit his throat so quickly. When they were ready for things to break though, Airin would be the first to die.

Even Cree from Eleven was higher on the totem pole than the two from Four. She had been quiet at first, but now she was chatting away with Rubin and Porcelain like she was their equal. It annoyed him to no end.

"You're seat's slightly to the right," Rocio whispered quietly in his ear. He stretched his hand out and felt for the metal chair, sitting down as if he had seen it there himself.

"It really wasn't that big a deal dear. It was only the midterm tournament," Porcelain was saying. "Of course, there was a huge medal ceremony and all, but really, it's the the August tourney that matters."

"And you lost that one?" Cree smirked.

"Oh of course not. I had to sit it out on injury. I strained my hamstring," Porcelain replied.

"You let a hamstring injury hold you back," Alexis raised an eyebrow, challenging the girl. "How... interesting."

Porcelain glared at the girl for an instant before her sickly sweet smile fell back onto her face. "Hey, it sounds pretty good to me," Airin tried entering the conversation. He figured that siding with either One or Two might give him an in on at least half the alliance.

"Oh it could always be worse," Porcelain agreed. "I could have been blind." Alexis snorted. Cree's eyebrows went up in surprise, though she kept silent.

Airin's friendly smile fell from his face and he grid his teeth. They weren't making it easy on him. "So have you guys heard the arena speculation yet," Rubin said hastily, breaking the deadly silence.

"Hey Rocio?" Airin breathed.

"Don't give them any attention," she whispered quickly back. "They'll get their's eventually."

"It's not about that. Where's that other blind kid. I think I want to chat with him," Airin replied lightly.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? They might not like it," Rocio worried, glancing over her shoulder at Damien Creast.

"I don't really care," Airin replied.

She sighed, knowing better than to argue with him. He'd been talking about meeting Damien for quite a while now. She wasn't going to be able to delay him forever. "Two o' clock. Go straight ten feet, the table is right there. There aren't any other tributes there. Other than the Avox attendant, he's alone," she said.

"See you in a minute. Tell me how bad I piss them off," he grinned.

When he stood, he could hear their tense chatter fall silent. "Hey where are you going?" Rubin asked innocently. Airin didn't respond. Instead he walked away, heading in the direction Rocio had told him. He could hear her making some silly excuse for him as he went. They'd accept him back in a few minutes, even if they were slightly miffed at the moment.

"So I heard you were as blind as a bat too," Airin said as he felt for a chair in front of him. The sound of someone's breath hitching reached his ears.

"I'm sorry what?" Damien stuttered out, nervously. "Oh, um, yup. I'm blind."

Airin laughed. "Geez, relax. I'm not going to gut you just yet. We'll save the animosity for the arena thank you very much. I just want to chat. It's not every day that I get to meet another kid like myself."

"Oh," Damien deadpanned. The boy from Eleven could feel his palms begin to sweat. He didn't like this conversation one bit. He'd never tried his acting skills on anyone but the ignorant. He'd never fooled one doctor into believing he was blind. He had tried sure, but in the end he was forced to pay them off because in the end. Of course, they could see his mannerisms. That's how they perceived him to be a fake.

"So you mind me asking what got your sight?" Airin asked.

"I fell off the roof of my house a couple years ago and onto a lemonade stand," Damien answered automatically. "I scraped my eyes on some of the wood in the stand."

Airin nodded sympathetically. "I was born with a bad vision. When I was really young I still could see a little bit, and my parents got me corrective lenses to help out some. It got progressively worse as I got older. By the time I was four I was completely in the dark," he said.

"I was eleven," Damien mumbled. "But hey, I guess it hasn't been all bad. My hearing is much better than it ever used to be."

Airin paused, confused. "You mean you're just listening better right?" he asked.

Damien could feel his stomach twisting into knots. "No. Can't you hear some things that everyone else can't? I got tested once and the results were better than a normal human's. It's a blind people thing," he said.

Airin's smile faltered. "I can," he said. "You can though?"

"Yeah, the doctors said that I would start hearing things that I'd never noticed before. Then about six months later I noticed that I was hearing things that my parents and friends couldn't. You know like super hearing," Damien said.

"You know that's strange because I've done a lot of research on blindness. There's been a lot of studies done on the myth that the blind have extra sensitive hearing, smell, touch, and taste. Do you know what they found?" Airin asked, his tone turning dangerous. Damien swallowed- he had been discovered. "People who were either born blind or fell blind before the age of five did have enhanced senses. People who lost their sight at the age of ten though had results comparable to that of someone with regular hearing. Can you describe what a hearing test is like for me?"

"Well, um," Damien stuttered out. "They put, er, tubes into your ears, and..."

Airin made a buzzing noise. "Wrong, try again. Weren't you just saying you had been tested," he said.

Damien's expression hardened. He was just digging a bigger whole for himself. "If you tell anyone..." he breathed underneath his breath.

"What? Are you going to kill me?" Airin spat, standing up. "Don't worry though. I'm not going to tell anyone important. Just watch your back in the arena. I'm a pretty chill person usually, but congratulations, you've officially offended me." Standing up, he gave Damien a salute and a small grin. "I'll see you in the bloodbath my friend."

Walking back over to the career table, he heard his supposed allies falling silent again. They weren't very subtle. He knew they had been talking about him. "So, um, how was your talk," Rocio asked awkwardly.

Airin's face twisted into a scowl. "When we go into that arena on Monday, that kid is mine," he growled.

And on that note, the tension in the air subdued slightly, and District One and Two resumed their two separate conversations.

Training resumed a half an hour later without a hitch. The careers returned to their spot at the weapons station. Ranger took residence at the knot tying station. Avanna and District Seven tried out the obstacle course. Mae sulked by the neglected history station.

Dice took his time exiting the cafeteria. He'd spent most of yesterday making rounds to the survival stations, and had been using the second day of training to do more physical training. His shirt was drenched in sweat from the morning of training, and he wanted to savor the last couple seconds of rest. He was used to non-stop activity from running constantly at home; however, he had been pushing himself to the limits today. A day of intense exercise was exactly what he needed to release the pent up emotions that had been weighing on his shoulders.

Walking back into the training center, he sighed, looking at the rock climbing wall temptingly. He was a little bulky to be climbing trees in the arena, but it would be something different. He walked towards the wall with determination in each step. He would reach the top.

"Do you want a harness?" the trainer asked when he arrived.

"No thanks," Dice replied, stretching his arms.

Taking great care to find a good spot to take his first foothold, he pushed himself off the ground. Slowly but steadily he made his way up the wall. It was slow going. His muscles were sore from the morning. He wasn't exactly a skinny stick either. Sure he never had enough food to gain too much weight in fat, but he made up for that with his muscle. Compared to the skinny kid from Three he might as well be sasquatch.

"Having trouble there my friend," a voice quipped from his right. He looked over to find the boy from District Six a few feet below him with a smirk on his face.

"Nope, I'm just fine," Dice responded, hoisting himself up another food. The boy just laughed as he nimbly climbed up to eye level with Dice. Obviously, he was much more skilled at this than Dice was, as he nimbly moved from grip to grip.

"Really? I mean you look like you're struggling a bit," he replied. Dice shot the guy an annoyed look as he moved upwards a little bit more. His arms felt like they were on fire.

"This is the first time I've tried the climbing wall out that's all. I'm fine," Dice grunted.

"Right," the boy replied, not looking convinced. "Well, I'll meet you at the top."

Darting up, Dice watched as the guy made his way up the rest of the wall in thirty seconds flat. It was impressive, though Dice didn't want to admit it. Clenching his teeth together, he fought through the pain in his muscles and started to fight his way up the wall. A couple of minutes later, his head poked over the top of the wall. The boy from Six was sitting in wait with his feet hanging over the edge of the rock climbing wall.

"Taking your time there huh?" he grinned.

"Yeah well we can't all be monkey mutts can we?" Dice muttered sarcastically as he hoisted himself onto the ledge with the boy.

"Water?" Six offered, pulling a water bottle out of his pocket. Dice took it, downing the entire thing in one go. "So I've heard quite a few things about you," the boy said.

"I'm sure Ceasar Flickerman has been very informative," Dice rolled his eyes. He'd seen some of the talk show sessions that had been airing. Honestly, they didn't know much about him other than his height, weight, and the fact that he'd punched a peacekeeper or two at the reaping.

"Not from the television, from a friend. Loot keeps us all very informed about the delivery boys he uses. They call me Dust by the way," he said.

Dice's eyes shot up and he stared at Dust. Memories of whispered exchanges with Loot in dark alleys surfaced. If this kid knew Loot, that meant he must be a dealer too, or at least part of the underground morphling ring. He examined Dust's face carefully. "So I take it you've had some experience climbing before," was all he could think of to say. He knew better than to ask aloud any of the obvious questions. He didn't know how many cameras and microphones were hidden around this room; although, Dust looked pretty confident that the conversation they were currently having was private. Had he swept the area before Dice had made it all the way to the top?

"Fences are much easier to climb than walls, my friend. I recommend starting small," Dust grinned.

"And you want an alliance," Dice continued, keeping his eyes trained distrustfully on the boy from Six. He wasn't sure how he felt about an alliance with anybody, let alone someone with such a sketchy background. On the other hand, knowing a bit about Dust was beneficial. He had always respected Loot in the time that he'd known the guy. The guy worked very hard at his job, even if it was illegal. Dice appreciated that quite a bit.

"You already sound like one of us anyways. I mean listen to the sound of your name- Dice. You could've been like Loot's long-lost brother or something. What can I say, it was meant to be," Dust nodded.

"My mom was big on gambling when I was born," Dice mumbled, referring to his name. She used to be big on men too, though he didn't mention that.

"I'll take that as a yes?" Dust asked. Dice paused, unsure of himself. Sighing, Dust's face turned serious. He lowered his voice so that he was barely even whispering. "You can trust me man. My friends and I, we take care of our own. I took a blood oath once, and I promised that everyone that was part of my trade would be treated like a brother. Well you're the closest thing I have here to one of my boys. I've got your back."

"Alright," Dice sighed.

"Cool," Dust grinned. "Just remember, if anyone asks, you're just a messenger boy, and I'm unemployed."

On the floor, Auden watched with jealousy as yet another two tributes paired off with each other. She was running out of options for people to talk to, and it made her nervous. She was starting to regret not accepting Damien's offer yesterday. No matter what Avell said, she needed a friend more than she needed someone to watch her back.

Turning away from the rock climbing wall, Auden made her way over to the now empty knot tying station. The girl from Ten had been there earlier and Auden had debated going up to talk to her. She was too intimidating though. By the time Auden had decided to walk up and say hi, she had moved on to the weapons station where all the careers were. She definitely wasn't going over there.

Sitting down at the knot station, a friendly looking trainer greeted her, and pulled out a little booklet. "Let me know if you're having any trouble," he said before leaving her to her work. Turning to the first page, Auden started practicing the first knot in the packet that was labeled 'reef knot'. It didn't take her long to master. She'd always picked things up quickly, no matter how much she tried to be a bad learner. Moving onto the next page, Auden glanced upwards at the sound of footsteps coming.

"He's nice. It was just that moment yesterday when he made that comment about girls and wrestling. I figured it'd be easier just to try and find my own alliance after that. I can always ask him tomorrow if I can join him, you know, that is if I don't find anything _official,_" the girl from Twelve said as she approached with the boy from Five.

The boy looked at his feet, looking slightly guilty, though Auden didn't quite know why. She assumed that the two were allies. Maybe she could try talking to them if they were going to stay at the knot tying station. The trainer handed them each a packet and motioned towards where she was sitting. Blushing slightly, Auden looked back down at her piece of rope, trying to hid the fact that she'd been staring.

"Oh, do you mind if we join you?" Twelve asked her with a soft smile.

"No," Auden said, still looking at her hands.

"You didn't know Mae before the reapings though did you?" Twelve continued her conversation with Five.

He shook his head. "She went to the same school as me apparently, but she's two years younger than me. I guess I never noticed her," he shrugged.

"I guess you can count yourself lucky then," Twelve smirked.

Auden watched the two talk silently. She wanted to join their conversation badly. She wasn't sure how to do it though. Should she just jump in? She gathered they were talking about their district partners. She could mention Avell. No, she should introduce herself first. "Hi I'm Auden," she said too quickly.

THe two paused in their conversation and looked at her. It was the boy who responded first. His lips pulled into a genuinely kind smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "I'm Petro," he responded. "And this is Cutter."

"Nice to meet you," Auden said. That's what she was supposed to say right? She wanted to be polite.

"Nice to meet you too," Cutter said. Auden swallowed hard. The girl was giving her a weird look. Had she said something wrong? "Um, that looks like a good knot you're tying."

"Oh, um, thanks," Auden said, glancing down at her hands. She'd almost forgotten she was holding the rope. "I can show you how to do it, if you want."

"Sure," Cutter said.

Auden smiled, and began to walk the two tributes through the knot. It wasn't the simplest one in the packet, but it wasn't hard either. They both picked it up in no time. When Cutter first completed her knot, Auden felt her stomach bubble with pride. It wasn't that she thought herself a good teacher. No, she was overjoyed that the two tributes hadn't left yet. She'd been talking with them for an entire ten minutes, and they hadn't left yet! Possibly, it might have been a new record for Auden.

"So you learned this that fast then?" Cutter asked when she heard Auden had only been at the station for a total of five minutes before they had arrived.

" Um, no... I mean, yes," Auden said. "I mean, I don't usually learn things this quickly. Um, I guess I'm just good at knots?"

Cutter gave her that weird look again. "I wasn't going to insult you or anything," she mumbled. "It's cool."

"Oh, well then yes," Auden smiled, relieved.

"You should hang with us for the rest of training then. We'd all learn things a little faster with someone else to work with," Cutter said.

"Like in an alliance?" Auden blurted out before she could help herself. "The three of us in an alliance?"

"I mean, I'd like that," Cutter said, a sly smile on her face. "But you'd have to talk with Petro. We're not officially in an alliance yet, actually."

Auden's eyes jumped straight to Petro as she begged him to say yes silently. He looked between the two girls, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't know," Petro said, uneasily.

"Just for a little while," Auden said. "At least until we get onto our feet. You can leave after that, if you want to."

"I don't think you can say no to that," Cutter smirked.

"A little while," Petro mumbled skeptically. His eyes were focused on his shoes, shining with a certain depth of agony that was completely lost on Auden. Cutter noticed it though, and filed the observation away for later.

Auden squealed and suddenly enveloped him into a hug. She caught him off guard, and he stumbled backwards onto the ground. "Oh I'm so sorry," Auden babbled, blushing.

"It's okay," Petro sighed. He wondered absently how long he'd last before he had to leave them. He'd only known Auden for a half an hour. She didn't understand yet just how unlovable a person he was. Her desperate need for an ally was clouding her mind. He had faith though. She'd come to her senses sooner or later.

* * *

**A/N So quick update. I love writing training chapters, so I'll probably breeze through the next one pretty quickly too. Espcially because it's going to be the best of all three. You just wait and see. Intense stuff is going to go down. So get excited. **

**Any who, I'll be updating alliances on the blog later tonight. Obviously they'll be incomplete because there will be one or two more made on day three, but I thought I'd bring it up to date for now. **

**Until next time,**

**-Tales**


	19. Training Day Three

Training Day 3

* * *

There was a more frantic tension in the air today than usual. It was probably because of the impending private sessions with the gamemakers later that day. They only had a few more hours to perfect finalize their deficient knowledge of survival before they were critically judged on it. Zea wasn't worried though. She had never trained with weapons before; however, she was crafty. Years of watching her father make tools for the grain field workers had taught her many things. She planned on making her own spear later, then throwing it at a target to prove it's sturdiness. No matter how poor her aim was, she expected at least a five from her crafting abilities. Gwyneth had assured her of that much

In the end, should she completely fail, she would have allies to rely on in the arena.

Sitting in the shadow of the rock climbing wall, she watched District Seven and the girl from District Eight chattering away by the edible plant station. She had chosen them, though they weren't aware of it yet. She'd been watching them from a distance for quite some time now, gauging their strengths and weaknesses. Zea was looking for someone useful but not imposing. Joining an alliance such as the one between the boys from Six and Eight would be like drawing a target on her back. On the other hand though, joining a group like the boy from Five and the girls from Three and Twelve wasn't good enough. None of them offered her anything she couldn't do herself.

Kan, Rowan, and Avanna were just what she needed. They were all genuinely kind- she had complete confidence that none of them would turn on her- and at the same time they were skilled. Specifically the boy's medical knowledge might just save her life. They needed her too, though they weren't aware of it. She knew none of them had the guts to make it very far in the Games. They needed a rock to guide them in the right direction. As much as it disturbed her to think in such a morbid way, she knew she could be that rock.

With a sigh, Zea rose to her feet. It was time to introduce herself.

She walked to them confidently, her face slightly too serious. "May I join you?" she asked.

The three looked up at her with mild surprise in their eyes. "Yeah sure," Kan said. She smiled slightly, and lowered herself to the ground beside Avanna, who looked at her with curious eyes. In the center of their little circle was a few different types of berries, which they seemed to be debating about.

"You're eyes are pretty," Avanna commented absently. She had noticed Zea watching them the other day, though she didn't mention anything to Kan or Rowan, and she was happy the girl had finally decided to approach them. Avanna enjoyed talking to new people. "The color almost blue, but there are some flecks of grey in it, so they're a bit more subdued."

"Thank you," Zea smiled softly. Across from her, Rowan rolled her eyes; although, she was chuckling too, so she was still in good humor. "I'm Zea," she introduced herself.

"I'm Rowan, and this is Avanna and Kan," the District Seven girl said. Zea played dumb and nodded. It was best that they didn't know she had been watching them for two days now. She didn't want to be secretive or anything. People just tended to think it was weird when they realized just how much Zea picked up about them in such a short amount of time.

"So I was wondering if there was room for one extra in your alliance," Zea asked.

Kan glanced quickly at Rowan, and then Avanna, looking for some sign of reservation. When he found none, his face broke into a grin. "I don't see why not," he said cheerfully. Zea relaxed her shoulders slightly. They didn't even take time to consult the decision. That was a good thing for her, but at the same time, she couldn't help but worry. A healthy amount of paranoia could be a good thing in the Hunger Games.

"Do you know much about berries?" Rowan asked, sounding bored as she stared at the piled up fruits.

Zea shook her head. "No, not much. I'm better at building things than some of the survival knowledge," she said.

"That's fine, we've got Kan for this kind of thing," Avanna reassured her.

"I'm a medic, not a scavenger," Kan protested. Rowan snorted.

It was as simple as that. They had accepted her into their little group whole heartedly, and were moving along as if nothing had changed. Zea knew though. Things had changed for the three of them completely now. The four of them would be going far in the Games. She knew it. She hoped desperately that she was right.

* * *

Dust glanced at the clock anxiously. They had a half hour left of training before they pulled everyone out into the hallway to await their private sessions. Looking over to the weapons station, he knew what he wanted to do. He and Dice had been avoiding the careers camp for the majority of training. Walking over to the weapons station was almost as intimidating as going before the gamemakers for the private sessions. It came with a guarantee of being humiliated.

Most of the tributes had sucked it up already and tested their abilities anyways. District Seven and the District Eight girl spent an hour there yesterday; although, by the time they were done, the girl from Seven was looking rather dejected. Other's had fared better. The girl from Ten boldly trained side by side with the girl from Two on the first day. Her face had been icily calm the entire time whilst the girl from Two taunted her the entire time.

Dice claimed that the trick was good self-control. That's why Dice didn't want either of them going over there. The boy from Eight was under no illusions about his own temper, and as for Dust, well, Dice feared that his partner actually wanted to confront one of the careers. His worries were well founded of course. Dust had been itching to have a friendly chat with one of them, specifically the boy from One. He could smell a soft-heart from a mile away. He wanted to test how well One's leadership would fare under a little outside pressure. He had a hunch that it would crack petty easily. Red's parting words hanging in his mind as well. The powers that be wanted someone in competition with the career districts to win. Was it ever to early to stir up a little animosity?

"Come on Dice. I swear, I won't do anything too rash," Dust said, his eyes trained on the weapons station.

"Yeah right," Dice rolled his eyes with a frown. "There's no way in hell we're going over there. I'd like to save their beating for next week."

"You stay over here then. I'm going. I'll remember this though, you know. I thought you said you had my back and everything," Dust said with a shrug and a comical glint in his eyes.

"When the trainers are yelling at us later, I'll blame you," Dice grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet.

Dust winked at his friend as he took the lead towards the career pack. The pair could hear the pack bickering from half way across the room, but as they approached the careers went silent.

"We've got company," Alexis sighed from beside Vlad when she noticed them.

"Rubin, I think it's your turn to show up the dirt," Vlad smirked, issuing a silent challenge to the boy from One. Rubin straightened his back slightly, as he shot Vlad a rueful glare. He didn't appreciate his allies insistence on using the intimidation tactics. There was no point in kicking a dead puppy. It was just downright cruel. He couldn't allow them to think he was weak though. He had no other option.

Dust's grin only widened when he saw the boy from One jumping to his feet. This was going to be fun. "I think I'll try my luck with the spear," Dust told Dice when they reached the weapon's rack. Dice grunted, picking up a sword for himself. Neither of them planned on using those two respective weapons in the Games. Dust planned on using darts and his vast knowledge of the materials that went into illegal drugs and poisons, while Dice planned on doing whatever would catch his enemies off guard.

Walking up to a dummy, Dust took a few good jabs at it's stomach. Beside him, Rubin appeared from nowhere, launching a spear into an adjacent target's trachea. The point of the spear had full penetration, it's shiny silver tip sticking slightly out of the other side of the mannequin's neck. Dust clicked his tongue, and took a few steps back, trying to throw the spear into his target's chest. He found the task much more difficult than it looked. His spear tended to start rotating in the air.

Meanwhile, Dice started slashing at one of the dummies. He tested his strength, trying to hack off entire limbs. He didn't quite manage to make a clean cut all the way through; however, he got close. It was much easier to destroy a stationary dummy with a sword than it was to hit one with a spear from a distance.

Rubin backed up from the dummy after taking his spear out of it, and moved back to where Dust was standing. He watched the other boy throw his spear yet another time. This attempt managed to whip its target with the pole end of the spear. It might not have been able to draw any blood, but it would've still bruised someone. Rubin put on his best smirk anyways. "That's a shame, I thought you had that one," he said sarcastically.

"The trick is concentration," Dust smirked lightly. "You should work on your focus, if you want to catch up to me that is."

Rubin snorted. "That's okay. I like my chances better when I do it my way."

Dust walked back over to the weapons rack, looking for something else to try. That's when he saw it. Buried beneath a pile of knives, the black sheen caught his eye. They really did have every weapon known to man kind in here. For a breif instant he thought of the risks. If he showed them this, the Capitol might get suspicious; they might know. He glanced back at Dice though, who was still hacking away with his sword, looking annoyed. Dust just couldn't help himself. Pulling it out of the pile, he quickly hid the weapon behind his back. He spun around, facing the careers with a wide grin.

"You're a little confident don't you think? Usually lambs lined up for slaughter don't look so excited about it," Rubin smirked. Dust was no fool though. The smile didn't reach the other boy's eyes.

"Really, I think you all are the confident ones," he said. He pulled both hands out from behind his back and shrugged.

Rubin lifted his head. He could feel his heart rate pick up immediately as his eyes trained on the weapon in Dust's hands. What idiot put a gun in the training center?

"Whoa," he said quickly, dropping his spear. "Is that necessary?"

Dust's grinned widened. The entire training center had gone silent. Every eye in the room was trained on him. The trainers didn't move though, vaguely he wondered why. Even Dice was looking at him with a hard alarmed expression. "The seven of you have been sitting here for the past three days like you own this place. Do you think you're scaring everyone? 'Cause I'm most certainly not scared," Dust said, waving the gun around carelessly.

In one swift motion he spun around towards the training dummies and shot off six bullets. All seven careers flinched as the sound of the gun firing echoed around the room. Each bullet made a popping noise as they hit their respective targets right between the eyes. Little yellow splatters stained the foreheads of mannequins. No wonder the trainers allowed this thing in here. It wasn't firing real bullets, just paintballs. Still, the room was silent. "That my friends, is what fear sounds like," Dust said quietly.

"It's a shame there won't be any guns in the arena," Alexis piped, her voice laced with venom.

"Just because there's no gun, doesn't mean you shouldn't worry about bullets," Dust smirked. It was something Books always used to tell him. He still wasn't quite sure what the phrase meant. Somehow though, it seemed to fit the situation. "Come on Dice, i think I've had my fill of the weapons station."

Dice glared at his ally as he quickly scurried away from the boiling career pack. "What the hell," he growled underneath his breath.

"Thought I'd stir the pot a bit," Dust breathed back quietly. Glancing back to the icily silent careers, he couldn't help but chuckle. "I think it worked."

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of nerves and activity. The private sessions came and went without any major casualties. Needless to say, the tributes all had their opinions about how their sessions went. What was done was done though. Training scores would be announced later that evening. For now though, all the tributes could do was wait.

On the first floor of the training center, Rubin Royal sat with his mentor, Ritz Newman, on the coach. He was hunched forwards with his eyebrows knit tight. Concern was written across his face. "Yeah, a gun. Nobody knows where he learned to use it though," Rubin nodded as he finished summarizing the final day of training.

Ritz paused as he contemplated the new information. "You know Sterling?" he asked.

"Sterling Walker, your mentor," Rubin nodded.

"You know why they say he's a drunk mess?" Ritz asked, his face serious.

"'Cause his girlfriend died in the Games two years ago," Rubin answered easily.

Ritz nodded. "Yeah, you know half the story. The year he won, Sterling was a hot topic. The Capitolites were all over him and his looks. The year that I won President Snow made a request of him, and he turned it down. The next year was Autumn's year, of course. He was crushed when she died, of course, but I think he would've rebounded from it. Then on the way back from the Capitol this Avox shows up with a note that says "Perhaps she would have won if you'd accepted my offer." Now that's what got him. He went to his room with a bottle of vodka and I haven't seen him sober since," Ritz said, looking at Rubin with a strange fierceness.

"What's your point?" Rubin asked carefully.

"The point is that Snow doesn't want anymore Sterlings. He doesn't want someone to win who's going to be giving him lip, and blatantly ignoring his demands. When President Snow makes an offer, it's not an offer, it's a order. He's not happy that Finnick Odair won last year. There's a fire in that kid's eyes that he's worried about; although, if you ask me, there's got to be some dirt on that kid that Snow will find sooner or later. Some girl he loves or friend he'd die for. Point is that someone's head is going to roll if he get's another rebel Victor this year," Ritz said.

Rubin paused, thinking of the boy from Six- Dust, he liked to be called. "So you don't think that they'll allow this kid to win?" Rubin said slowly.

"They've surprised me before," Ritz shrugged. "Just remember that it's just as important to be the kind of Victor that they're looking for in addition to a good fighter. This year they want someone submissive. Be that person."

"And after I've won, then what?" Rubin smiled wryly.

"You're thinking too far ahead," Ritz said, jumping to his feet. "You volunteered for this. If you were worried about the results of victory, you should have stayed home."

Rubin grunted.

"Well then, now that we've had this nice chat, I'm going to go take a nap. See you later when they announce scores," Ritz announced.

"See you then," Rubin mumbled back. He leaned back in the coach and stared at the blank television screen. It was going to be a long wait.

* * *

**A/N This was a little shorter than the other two training chapters, but that's to be expected because it's technically only a half day of training. In case you didn't know before. I don't write the private sessions. It's monotonous to do 24 of those in a row, sort of like the reapings. Some people will write one or two, but I just skip all of them. One or two characters will mention what they did in the next chapter when they reveal the training scores. The rest you'll just have to use your imagination for. Just pretend you're the Capitolites watching this on t.v. They don't get to find out what goes on in there either. **

**Until next time,**

**Tales.**


	20. Training Scores

Training Scores

* * *

Kan winced as he gently lowered himself onto the coach. He was highly aware of the blood pumping through his leg, as it throbbed painfully. His long cargo pants currently covered the tight white bandage that wrapped around his upper thigh, keeping constant pressure on it to assure that the bleeding didn't restart. Carefully, he ran his fingers over the spot where he cut himself. The doctors claimed that it would be gone by the time he woke up tomorrow. He didn't believe them though. The medicine they had applied wasn't familiar to him, but still, the Capitolites weren't magicians. His personal diagnosis was at least two weeks for partial recovery.

"Wipe that wimpy look off of your face," Ash Lancewood grunted from across the room. "You useless kids don't know anything about respect. The doc said you'd be fine for the games. So stop feeling sorry for yourself because no matter what you think, they are in fact smarter than you."

"I never said that I thought I was smarter than them," Kan muttered with a half sigh.

Ash let out a false bursting cackle. "Don't lie kid. We both know you're little peanut brain was thinking it," he said.

Kan didn't respond to his mentor this time. There was no point arguing with him. The old man was crazy, as far as Kan was concerned. He hobbled around all day on a wooden cane that he didn't need, scaring people with his damaged milky white left eye, and showing off his left hand, which was happened to be missing its index, ring, and pinky finger. Ash treated most of the world with a sort of gruff indifference. He was anti-social, and often brushed off conversation. It was only when talking to Kan that he became openly hostile, swearing and reminding Kan of his immanent death. At first, Kan had been beside himself- he thought he was a pretty reasonable guy after all. Since then he'd gotten used to it.

"Turn on the television before you blabber through the entire show," Ash demanded. "Now where's Blight and his girl? I told him to be down here early."

"We're coming," a deep tired voice called from the hallway. Kan was just pressing the power button as Rowan ran into the room, her hair still wet from showering. Blight, her mentor followed her, his empty figure falling beside Ash.

The Capitol's seal flickered onto the screen, and the anthem played in the background.

Kan felt his stomach clench as the pressure truly hit him for the first time that day. He needed a high score for his allies. It wasn't that he doubted their abilities, or their worth. He simply feared that Avanna's affinity for camouflage or Zea's intuitiveness wouldn't look as good in the gamemaker's eyes as Kan's medical skills. Of course, it didn't help that he accidentally threw the sharp end of an axe into his upper thigh during his private session. Sure it gave him a real wound to patch up, but he doubted that the gamemakers would overlook his clumsiness. Maybe he should be praying for his friend's scores instead of his own.

"How's the leg feel," Rowan asked as she slipped quietly beside Kan.

"A little sore," he said.

"Shut up. It's starting," Ash snapped.

District One's seal appeared on the screen, and Kan and Rowan fell automatically silent. Rowan could hear her heart beating in her chest. Zea had mentioned something earlier about the career's scores causing friction in the group. She wasn't sure exactly what the girl from Nine had meant by the statement, but she suddenly found herself hoping that she was right.

"Rubin Royal," the familiar robotic voice said. Rowan's hairs stood on end as Rubin's picture flashed onto the screen. "Nine."

The room was silent as the four of them awaited the next score. The careers score was no surprise to them. After a giant letter nine had floated around the screen for a moment, Rubin's picture was replaced by that of his District partner.

"Porcelain Braavos... Eight." Rowan nodded- again this was to par with her expectations.

"Vladimir Pekelo... Ten."

"Alexis Hayden... Nine."

Kan and Rowan exchanged a quick glance as the little boy from Three's face popped up onto the screen. This was the part where they started learning about the competitors they didn't know much about. It was no secret that the six tributes from One, Two, and Four had spent their lives training for the Games. Everyone else though was a mystery to them. They weren't aware of what hidden talents the other kids might have. The training scores would be the first indicator of what to expect.

"Avell Watts... Nine"

"Impossible," Ash blurted out, his face turning red. Kan suddenly felt sick to his stomach. It appeared that there was a lot they needed to be worried about.

* * *

Two floors below District Seven, another six faces were staring at the television in disbelief; although, perhaps their reactions weren't as extreme. Petro could only find it within himself to sigh as the daunting nine burned into his eyes. Lupa squeezed his shoulder tenderly, and he shot her a robotic smile. He had to make her think he was being optimistic, even if he wasn't.

"Auden Eneis... Four."

Petro bit his lip absently. A four wasn't that impressive. Auden probably wasn't going to be happy about it. "What a shame," Mae sighed from the chair adjacent to his. "Looks like your ally isn't all she's cracked up to be."

"Guess not," Petro mumbled timidly. Mae was still pissed at him for deserting her yesterday, and she wasn't shy about telling him about it. He was just trying not to make things any worse. Hopefully she'd get a high score. Getting her into a good mood might help ease things a bit more.

"Airin la Aguilla... Eight."

"Rocio Greivers... Seven."

Mae snorted. "A seven. She's even worse than the blind kid. I hope they kill her first," she said. "I bet my score blows her out of the water. If that kid from Three can get a Nine, I can get a Ten."

She smirked. Her nerves were at an all time low as Petro's face appeared on the television. She was positive that she had done well, better than the boy from Three, better than Petro, better than all the careers even. Maybe she'd even break their scale: the first tribute to get a thirteen out of twelve. It was only appropriate. She was most certainly the most intelligent tribute they'd seen in years.

"Petro Joule... Five."

Issac Luster's mouth twitched into a mousey smile. "Not bad. We can work with average," he mumbled to himself. Lupa clapped Petro's back in encouragement. He smiled again because he felt he had to, for Isaac and Lupa's sake. In all honesty though, the score made him feel empty. Maybe average was a good way to describe him. He was so unbearably average that he got lost in the crowd. He would be noticed by no one.

"Mae Themis," the voice called.

Mae's chest swelled with pride. "Get ready to be amazed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Two."

The silence in the room was palpable. At first, Mae didn't even realize what they had said. She processed the two as a twelve, and jumped to her feet to celebrate. That was when it hit her. They had not, in fact, deemed her exceptional. No, of all the scores announced so far, hers was the worst. Suddenly, she felt murderous.

"Oh look at that," Atom Washer spoke. "What a surprise. Princess didn't do so hot." Mae's eyes darted to Petro's mentor as she let out a shaky breath. Atom was unfazed though. "Oops, I say that out loud?" he smirked.

* * *

"You guys hear someone screeching?" Airin asked.

"I think you should get your hearing checked," Finnick grinned.

"Or maybe you should check yours. I think something must be going on upstairs," Rocio shook her head.

District Four sat relaxed in their suite. Both Airin and Rocio were satisfied with the scores they had gotten. Of course, Dylan Hays warned Rocio that having the lowest score out of the careers was something she should be worried about. She wasn't bothered by it though. Her score was high enough. She didn't really care whether she was in Rubin or Vlad's good graces. She didn't even know how long she planned on staying with the pack. The only reason she was still with them at all was because of Airin. He was a good guy, and she didn't want to desert him.

"Remendado Lectart... Eight."

Rocio felt her shoulders relax. It certainly made that Dust kid look like less of a threat when he scored lower than a twelve-year-old; although, she scored lower than both of them so maybe she shouldn't take him so lightly.

"They'll be happy about that," Airin commented. "He didn't beat any of them."

"Crescent Lollium... Three"

"I bet they're pissed anyways," Dylan muttered.

"Lighten up a bit," Finnick complained, his youthful green eyes shining. "I doubt him tying Porcelain Braavos is going to restart the Dark Days." Dylan pursed his lips and gave Finnick a condescending look that reminded Rocio of just how young Finnick was. Rocio wondered if he was giving Airin any legitimately good advice. He was only fifteen after all, and since it was his first year as a mentor, he couldn't know much more than them. Or maybe she was just being ignorant. They did say that the arena can teach you things.

"Kan Murcius... Five."

"Rowan Diatello... Three."

"Dice Bromton... Seven."

"I guess it's official then," Airin sighed. "Dice and Dust for the bloodbath."

"You're not actually planning on going after them?" Rocio asked alarmed.

Airin snorted. "I'm not stupid. I just meant that Vlad, Rubin, Alexis, and Porcelain will probably be targeting Six and Eight. I'll be sitting on my pedestal until the commotion dies down. If anyone get's too close, I'll hear them. I would appreciate it if you had my back though, in case someone's throwing a knife at me or something."

"No problem," Rocio mumbled. She paused for a second. "And the Damien kid? I thought you threatened him."

"I've got things worked out for him," was all Airin said. He knew that Rocio was a kind-hearted girl, and on a normal basis he might be considered a pretty chill guy too. He just didn't want to trouble her with his plans for Damien. He doubted she'd lose sleep over what he was going to do to the kid, but if she knew Alexis was in on things, she might get upset.

"Avanna Welcher... Three."

"Well just be careful," Rocio bit her lip.

"You need to lighten up too," Finnick laughed. "You're not his mother." Airin grinned and nodded in his mentor's direction. Rocio just rolled her eyes, silently hoping that her District partner wouldn't be too reckless. If he was going to die, she just wanted it to be after her. She didn't think she'd cope well knowing she'd outlived him.

* * *

"Ghram Aintree... Five."

"Not bad," Burnet nodded in approval as he leaned back in his chair. A five wasn't spectacular, but it was average enough that people wouldn't look down on Ghram for it. Knowing him though, Ghram definitely wasn't pleased with that score. He was a pretty competitive kid, and Burnet knew that his ally really wanted to impress some older guys from back home. At least it wasn't going to hurt them in the arena though. Plenty of victors won with scores of five, six, and seven.

"Could be worse," Cutter agreed with a sigh. Burnet glanced over at her, feeling bad. Her allies had gotten a four and a five, and she obviously had been hoping for better. In all honestly, the two scores hadn't surprised Burnet all that much. The boy she was allied with seemed kind of scrawny and reserved, and the girl was awkward. He knew that deep down, she wanted to be with bigger threats, even if she didn't want to admit that even to herself. It made him feel guilty knowing that he had sort of ditched her. There was no turning back now though.

"Wait until you get your scores to be sighing sweetheart. Then you'll have a real reason to feel sorry for yourself," Haymitch bubbled from the dining table.

"Be polite," Effie Trinket snapped at him.

Both tributes ignored their mentor and escort completely. Haymitch had started drinking during breakfast and was probably currently on the verge of alcohol poisoning. He wasn't in charge of any of his facilities, let alone his mouth. And as for Effie, well, she didn't seem to know much about winning the Hunger Games. She was best ignored.

"Zea Bachmeier... Six."

"Whisper Releigh... Three."

"Melivora... Seven."

"That's impressive," Burnet commented.

"Are you surprised? That girl looked pretty tough in training," Cutter said. Burnet shrugged. He hadn't noticed honestly. He'd been paying more attention to some of the male tributes. Most of them seemed like bigger threats to him with their muscular frames and intimidating personas. The girl from Ten was hostile at best, but she wasn't quite as intimidating as say the boy from Eight.

"Guess not," he lied. "We're coming up soon."

"Damien Creast... One."

"Cree Ophelia... Six."

Burnet held his breath as the District Twelve seal flashed in front of his eyes. This was it: the moment of truth. He could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest. The seal disappeared in a moment, and was quickly replaced with his photograph.

"Burnet Stevens... Six."

Effie's shrill clap filled the room as Burnet breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't anything excellent, but it was decent, better than Ghram's score even. If he could just nail his interviews and survive his first day, he'd be able to rack up at least a few sponsors. Beside him, he could sense Cutter tensing. He'd almost forgotten that she still had to go. On the screen, her face had replaced his.

"Cutter Wryer... Three."

His heart fell as Effie continued to clap, although she was noticeably less enthusiastic. Cutter didn't even bother hiding the disappointment on her face. "Oh, well, at least Petro did well," she muttered as she stood up.

"Hey, it's not all that bad," Burnet tried to comfort her. "There's still the interviews. Be charming, like me, and you could rake up all sorts of sponsors."

"I think I'm going to bed," she shrugged. His smile faltered as he watched her exit the room. He felt awful for his District partner. He knew what disappointment would have tasted like- he'd pictured himself walking in the unfortunate shoes of a low scorer several times over the past hour. The feeling wasn't pleasant.

"Told her," Haymitch giggled. "Told her she should wait for her score."

Burnet shook his head. He had to stop feeling sorry for Cutter. She wasn't his ally, and if he was going to win, that meant she would have to die. He had to detach himself. With a sigh, Burnet strode over to the mini-fridge that was disguised as a cabinet under the television. He never thought it would be so hard not to care.

* * *

**A/N Hiya, another quick update. I'm trying to get to the Games within the next two weeks. If you're confused about any of the scores, check the blog. It's been updated with them. Please note that if you stated a specific score on your tribute form and its not the one that turned up, I've changed it in the interest of some of the plots I have planned out. **

**Did any of the scores surprise you guys? I have a hunch at least one of them did.**

**On a different note, I had some fun with this chapter. It allowed me to sort of introduce a few more mentors, which was fun. I know the personalities of every victor featured on the Victor's Hall blog, but obviously, I don't exactly have an opportunity to introduce you to them. Finnick was a little more carefree and immature than he is in the actual series because this is the fifteen year old version of that Finnick. He hasn't been forced into prostitution yet, nor has he met Annie, so I personally think that he'd be a very different person than he is when we meet him in the books. **

**Any who, I think I'm done talking for now. Next chapters is the interviews part one. I hate writing interviews so it might take me a few extra days to get it out. **

**Until next time,**

**Tales.**


	21. Interviews Part One

Interviews Part One

* * *

The theatre had a pulse tonight. Chatter filled its walls and the hot breath of a thousand beings circulated under the hot television lights. The tickets for the nosebleed seats had sold out three years ago. It was the twenty-four tributes' final right of passage before they marched bravely to their deaths, and the entire Capitol wanted a chance to see their soldiers off. Only the fortunate got their chance.

Minerva Callaghan sat above them all, of course, and her presence sent chills down the spines of those who were attentive enough to notice her. And the woman wasn't one to go unnoticed. Her gaze was cold, her tongue quick. For the most part, she seemed to be natural at first glance. The signs of her plastic surgery were subtle. Her black curls were a deeper shade of night than the color she'd been born with. Her ice blue eyes had been enhanced so that they were so vibrant, it was unnerving.

Unlike many of her predecessors, she did not soak in the commotion in the theatre. She didn't care for the frivolous worries of the Capitol citizens. They were beneath her concern with their petty interests. She was an artists of the most talented sorts. Her Games were her masterpieces with the tributes as her medium. Last year, she had found her beauty in serendipity. She allowed her tributes to fight for their lives on their own right, and of course, the most talented fighter won. This year, however, she was ready to step into her role as god. She would hand pick the winner herself, and that was why tonight was important. It would be her last chance to observe them before they were sent spinning to their various ends.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed in the audience, and an excited hush filled the air. Music blared as Caesar Flickerman spun in his chair, making the most of his intro. Minerva's lips curled as she noted his royal purple hair- how ironic of him.

"Ma'am, I've got the files you requested," a nuisance bothered her from her left. She took the papers wordlessly before shooing her assistant aside. Around her, she could hear her underlings chatting. Only the department heads were allowed in the box seat during the interviews, as per tradition. Sometimes she wished that she could send even her most trustworthy co-workers away. She liked examining her chess pieces alone.

"Well, I'm sure you're all ready for me to bring out our special guests, now aren't you. So without further adieu, let me introduce to you the one and only Porcelain Braavos," Caesar called out. The crowd went wild as Porcelain emerged from back stage. Her stylist had her dressed in a frilly pink dress that cut off at the knees. Her make-up was red based, with a copious amount of pink blush had been applied to her white cheeks, and her lips painted a deep scarlet color. She carried herself like a young girl as she walked over to the interview seat. Minerva didn't miss the clever gleam in her eyes though.

"You look just gorgeous today Ms. Braavos," Caesar crooned.

"Oh, not as gorgeous as the other tributes dear," Porcelain rebuked, waving him off.

"Somehow I don't believe that," he smiled. "But anyways, how's your stay been so far in the Capitol?"

"It's been just darling. Everyone here has been, so... so classy. I've really appreciated that," Porcelain said. With her hand, she pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear.

"Well it's good to hear everyone's been treating you nicely. I'm sure that's nothing new for you though. Everyone back in District One must have loved a sweet girl like you," Caesar said.

"Oh, they did," Porcelain assured him. "It's just that at home, I'm just another girl. As a tribute though, you're treated like a princess. It's a nice change."

"I'm sure you're going to prove to everyone that your someone that shouldn't be treated lightly though. A score of eight is not so easy to get," Caesar prompted.

Porcelain's lips stretched into a ruthless smile, and her eyes lost a certain aspect of kindness. Minerva's lips twitched into a smile. This is a hint of the girl she showed them during her private sessions. "I'll just say that underestimating me would be a mistake," she said. For a minute she let her unnerving words settle, on the silent room. Then she let out a trill of a laugh, loosening up the tension in the room perfectly. She was an expert at manipulating the crowd. She was showing them just enough of her harsher side to make her seem threatening, but also enough of her sweeter half to make her seem clever.

The buzzer went off after another few light exchanges, and Porcelain stood, making her way over to the line of chairs on the left-wing of the stage. Next up, Rubin Royal strode out onto the stage. He looked like the spitting image of his grandfather as he took Caesar's hand.

"Rubin Royal. I must say, I'm having a bit of deja vu here. I never had the honor of interviewing Price when he was a tribute, but just the other year he went out of his way to have a nice chat with me. You're very much like him," Caesar said.

"I try," Rubin said with a shrug. "He was a great man, taught me everything he knew."

"You were close then?"

"I'm sure everyone here knows my father Marble Royal right?" Rubin asked.

"He came in third in the 49th Hunger Games. I remember him," Caesar nodded.

"I never got to meet him, but yes, he died in the Hunger Games that year. With my dad gone though, my grandfather took me and my mom in. Grandpa Price basically raised me as his own. It's been hard this past year without him, but I'm going to win and make him proud," Rubin said. The crowd mumbled their approval. Price was a popular victor in his day. He kept his head after he won, and often went out of his way to mingle with the citizens, signing autographs and such.

"How very noble of you," Caesar remarked. "I'm sure that no matter what, both he and your father will be very proud of you."

"That means a lot," Rubin smiled.

The crowd protested when Rubin's session ended and he had to take his seat beside his District partner off to the side. Clearly he was quite popular. Their excited buzz was rekindled as Alexis Hayden made her way out onto the stage. It was clear her stylist was aiming for sex appeal with the girl's halter style pink dress. One of her Gamemakers let out a loud low whistle for the girl, causing her to wink at the audience. They went wild.

"Be professional Gregor," Minerva hissed.

"Sorry Ms. Callaghan," Gregor mumbled back.

When Minerva returned her attention to the stage, she'd missed the introductions. "So, tell me, is there a significant other back at home?"

"Yes," she answered, to the audience's dismay. "His name is Nolan. I'm going to make him proud in the arena. Then when I get home, he'll be able to brag to everyone that he's dating one of the greatest victors of all time."

"Lucky boy," Caesar said in good humor. "Do you have a strategy for the arena?"

Alexis nodded, a cruel smirk twisting onto her face. "It's not that complicated. I'm going to run into the Cornucopia, grab the closest weapon I find, and then kill everyone in sight. I can't say that I'm an experienced killer just yet, but I've prepared my entire life for this. I'm ready."

The buzzer sounded, and she made her way off to the side of the stage. Vladimir Pekelo walked out with his hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. He looked completely relaxed as he took his seat.

"It's nice to finally meet you Vladimir," Caesar smiled.

"Call me Vlad," the boy replied.

"Vlad then. I must say, you don't look nervous at all. Are you ready for the Games?"

"What's to be nervous about? We're all friends here." Vlad shrugged. "But yeah, I'm definitely ready. I've been ready for years."

"So you've been planning on volunteering for a while then," Caesar inquired. Minerva rolled her eyes. Caesar was required to play ignorant to the career issue. All of them were. It was part of the mind game that Snow liked to play with the outer District. They were all told that they had an equal chance at victory, even though they knew that the odds were not in their favor. Fluffy questions such as this one were just for show. Even the common Capitolite knew that.

"Yup. I've got a pretty competitive nature, and I know I was born to be a champion. What can I say? I'll stop at nothing for the victory," Vlad nodded.

"Sounds like you're pretty determined," Caesar said. "Do you get that from your parents or maybe a special mentor?"

"My mom's a peacekeeper, and my older brother is a pretty skilled fighter. They taught me a lot about combat, but I'd like to think that my drive is something that is uniquely mine. Not to toot my own horn or anything," Vlad said.

"Well, sounds like you're going to be someone to beat. Ladies and gentleman, Vlad Pekelo," Caesar called as the buzzer announced the close of his conversation. "Now up next, from District Three, we have Auden Eneis!"

Minerva had to admire Auden's stylist work as the girl walked nervously out onto the stage. She wore a blue dress that went down to the middle of her calf. Her hair was in a side pony tail, and the hair had been curled into ringlets on the end. Thick black eyeliner brought out the blue in her eyes and silver glitter made her sparkle under the lights. Minerva smirked. Clearly her stylist was over-compensating for the disaster that was about to come out of the girl's mouth.

"So Auden, how's life away from District Three?" Caesar asked.

Auden bit her lip, and creased her eyebrows. Such a simple question, yet it required so much thought. "Um, good?" she replied, looking unsure.

Caesar laughed, and invited the audience to chuckle with him. "Is that a question? I think you might be a little nervous. Don't worry, I'm a little nervous too," he smiled.

Auden gave him a strange look. "You are? That's unfortunate. I mean, this is your job right? How can you do your job if you have stage fright?"

Again, Caesar laughed off her odd comment. "They say that you need to retire once you've stopped getting excited about what you do. I'll hand in the towel once my pulse stops thumping when I come out here," he smiled. The crowd mumbled their agreement.

"Oh, yes, I see. I can understand that," Auden nodded thoughtfully.

"So I hear that you're quite the genius," Caesar changed the subject, throwing the spotlight back onto her. He was trying to give her a second shot a winning the crowd. Little did he know that asking about her intellect would lose the audience completely.

"No. No I'm just average," she said with unnatural vigor. "No genius here." She cut off her sudden outburst with a nervous laugh, in an attempt to play the crowd the way Porcelain had earlier. She didn't possess the same finesse though.

"I think someone's trying to play down their strengths," Caesar told the crowd. Winking at Auden, he continued. "It's okay your secret's safe with us."

The buzzer blared as he finished his sentence. Auden took her leave gratefully, as she awkwardly moved to join the four hulking careers on the other side of the stage. Minerva could feel the excitement level spiking suddenly as Avell Watts walked onto the stage, his head held high. An intelligent smirk was eased onto his lips as he lounged on the chair across from Caesar. Everyone wanted to hear a few words from the twelve-year-old boy who walked away with a score of nine.

In the corner of her eye, Minerva noticed Vlad lean forward, suddenly highly engrossed in Caesar's interview.

"It's an honor to meet you Caesar," Avell said, shaking the man's hand.

"The pleasure is all mine," Caesar replied. "I must say, everyone is quite impressed with your score. I think you've set a new record, the highest score ever set by someone so young."

"My score? That was nothing. Anyone could have done it, if they knew what the Gamemakers are looking for," Avell brushed off the compliment.

"And you knew?"

"Yeah. I've always been a big fan of the Games, watching reruns in my house and stuff. The only difference between myself and all the other kids my age who are reaped is that the other kids never paid enough attention when watching the Games. All you have to do is notice the patterns. For instance, for the last couple of years, the gamemakers have been awarding higher scores to tributes who later demonstrated that they had half a brain. Tributes like Totem Earhart, and Till Harold have gotten high scores because not only were they competent with some kind of weapon, but they were clever. So in my private session, I showed them exactly that," Avell explained, gaining confidence with each word. The Capitol was hanging on his every word.

"Sounds like you're quite the strategist," Caesar noted.

"You could say that. I wouldn't call it strategy, I'd just say that I have common sense," Avell smirked. "Because you know, despite the fact that it's called common sense, it's really not that common."

The crowd laughed.

"I wish you good luck in the arena then Avell," Caesar laughed. Avell took his seat beside Auden with extreme confidence. Minerva glanced down at her notepad as Rocio walked out. Seymour Yew had told her that Rocio had more potential than some of District Four's greatest victors. So far, she hadn't been living up to such high praise. Potential stemmed just as much from talent as it did from having the correct mindset. The District Four girl was missing some of the latter.

On the stage, introductions were underway. Rocio was going for the same angle Vlad had successfully pulled off- the calm and collected career. She was failing though. Her posture was tight, and her facial expressions first. Underneath the shabby acting attempt a tired awkward interior was coming out.

"Tell me, what motivated you to volunteer?" Caesar asked.

The girl's posture tightened further at the question. "Uh, well, the usual things. Glory, money, a nice house in victors village," Rocio said, rather unconvincingly.

"Come on," Caesar said, calling her out on her lie. "Was it a social status issue? No, then how about a some curiosity about the Capitol? Your parents?"

"My parents?" Rocio laughed, closing off into herself. Minerva's eyebrows furrowed. Was that guilt she saw? How curious. "No it wasn't them. I told you, glory, money, and fame. Who could want anything else?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." Caesar smiled, holding his hands up in defensive jest. The audience laughed. Rocio's face turned red. Obviously she knew that she wasn't making a good impression. When the crowd had calmed down, Caesar reached out for a less touchy topic. "So then, any predictions for the arena? How do you plan on coping with the unveiling. Those first sixty seconds are crucial to starting the game off on the right foot."

"I'm not usually that dramatic," Rocio answered. "I'm pretty good at rolling with the punches, so to speak. I think I'll cope just fine. As for what the arena is, who knows? Your guess is as good as mine."

"Well said," Caesar agreed. "I think I speak for everyone when I say that we're all excited to see more from you." About half of the crowd nodded in half-hearted agreement. Rocio exited the stage swiftly, trying to hide the embarrassed flush of her cheeks. She wasn't happy with her performance.

The moment Airin walked out, all negativity around Rocio was forgotten. Everyone was curious about the blind boy who volunteered.

"Airin la Aguilla," Caesar said. "I must say, I was quite shocked when I learned about your circumstances. It is one thing being blind, but an entirely separate matter that you volunteered knowing about your ailment. I have to ask, why?"

Airin clicked his tongue. "You know, I get that question a lot," he said. "People seem to assume that just because I'm blind, I can't do anything. I can assure you though, I'm just as good as the next guy when it comes to fighting. I promise, I'm going to impress you all in the arena, and not because I'm blind. I'll impress you because I'm awesome enough on my own."

"You're pretty confident," Caesar laughed. "I like it."

Airin grinned. "What can I say? I'm just a likable guy." The crowd chuckled.

"Now you know I have to bring this up, but when you volunteered, there was another boy who you pushed out of the way. Did you know him?" Caesar asked.

"Yeah, that was Hartley," Airin responded automatically. Nobody could see, but the boy's pulse spiked at the mention of his best friend. He had been prepared for this question though. Thank god he had been ready too. He couldn't let them know the true background between the two of them. If Hartley was going to discover Airin's feelings for him, it wasn't going to be on television. "He's a close friend, or he _was_ a close friend. He was going to volunteer this year, and everyone wanted him to. People didn't exactly support me for tribute, you know, with my situation. I couldn't miss this chance though, so I just kind of took it. Hartley was kind of mad at me." Airin allowed a certain amount of his sorrow show through his defenses. He kept most of it buried though. They had to see just enough of his sadness for it to be believable. If he seemed too depressed about it, he'd lose them.

"I'm sure he will understand with time," Caesar said, patting Airin on the back. "If you win, how can he stay mad at you?"

Airin smiled appreciatively. "I hope your right," he nodded.

With that, the buzzer sounded, and the next tribute, Mae Themis walked on. Her face had a sharp scowl on it, as she looked indignantly up at the gamemakers. Minerva smiled coldly down at the girl. Someone must still be a tad unhappy about their score. Lord, Minerva couldn't wait to see that child die a brutal and horrible death.

"Caesar," she greeted rudely.

He was unfazed, of course, as he smiled back at her. "Nice to meet you too," he grinned. "How have you liked your stay at the Capitol so far Ms. Themis?"

"Oh it has been sub par," the girl scoffed. "I must say, it's been painful how flawed a system you guys are running here."

Suddenly, Caesar's smile didn't seem so genuine and Minerva glanced back at one of her fellow Gamemakers. "Get the early buzzer ready," she said under her breath.

"How so?" Caesar asked, raising his eyebrow.

"The whole Avox thing," Mae said, picking the first issue that came to her mind. "It's rather stupid to have your entire lifestyle resting on the shoulders of traitors. I heard that you have an entire network of Avox's here in the Capitol. Sooner or later, they're going to become a problem don't you think? I realize that it doesn't have a direct correlation with my stay here, but really, it makes me uncomfortable thinking about how stupid people can be."

"I suppose so," Caesar mumbled.

"And if you want to look at the bigger picture. There's the whole issue with how Panem is run..."

Minerva signalled for the buzzer to ring, and for Mae's microphone to be shut off. From her balcony, she could see Mae's lips protesting hotly as she was escorted to her seat. Minerva shook her head.

It was a relief to everyone when Petro Joule came walking out onto the stage with an amiable smile on his face. He shook Caesar's hand like a civil person, and waved to the crowd. "Sorry about Mae. She means well," he said with a shy glance towards his District partner.

Caesar laughed, but didn't pursue the topic further. He didn't want to talk district partners with Petro. "So, I haven't gotten any gossip on alliances yet. Might I ask you for some insight?" Caesar asked. "Have you made any friends since you've come here, other than with your District partner of course." Even Minerva snorted at that one.

"I didn't come here looking for friends," Petro said, his tone honest yet guarded. "But I guess I've sort of stumbled into an alliance."

"Well now you've got to spill the secret, who persuaded you?" Caesar asked, leaning forwards.

"Auden did, and Cutter from Twelve. It's going to be the three of us in there. And there are some other alliances too, but I don't think that's my business to tell," Petro said as he nervously played with the sleeve of his dress shirt.

"Oh you're killing us here," Caesar cried out. "Not even a hint at what the others are up to?"

"No, sorry, don't want to make anyone mad," Petro smiled timidly. The audience ate their conversation up, calling out to Petro to tell them more.

Soon enough, Petro's turn on stage came to a close. He had done a good enough job. Sponsors would appreciate the insight into who he was aligned with; although, it wasn't necessarily going to help him that his two allies weren't yet seen as potential victors. Things could still change though. Cutter hadn't screwed up her interview just yet, unlike Auden.

Minerva chewed on her pencil as Crescent Lolium's name was announced. Now here was someone she was actually interested in seeing. She had given the girl a low score after the private sessions. It wasn't because Crescent had performed poorly though. She simply didn't do anything at all. The girl was an enigma, and probably deserved a score of one for her showing. Minerva couldn't shake the feeling though that there had to be something more to her.

The girl took a moment to appear from behind the black curtains, and when she did, she promptly shielded her eyes from the blaring lights. She looked uncomfortable and panicky in the spotlight. But she wasn't brooding for the moment, which was something new.

"Well hello Crescent," Caesar greeted.

The girl paused as her eyes adjusted. Her fingers were clamped around the arms of her chair. "Hi," she responded, sounding slightly hostile.

"How's your day been?"

"Fine."

"Mine has been rather long, in case you were wondering," Caesar joked. "So, are you nervous about tomorrow?"

Crescent paused, taking a deep breath. "No, not really," she said.

"That's interesting, what makes you so confident?" Caesar asked kindly.

Again the girl paused, as if debating on what she was going to say. Then with another deep breath, she looked out to the audience. "I'm... clever. I am going to play the game smart," she said. It looked like every word that left her tongue was painful. She almost resembled a cornered animal that was teetering between fear and aggression. After a moment she added, "Sorry, I don't like the lights."

"Yes, they are kind of bright aren't they," Caesar commented. "That's show business for you. I'm sure they'll grow on you though. If you are crowned our victor, you'll have to get used to being under the spotlight. You're a celebrity now."

Crescent almost hissed in disgust. She looked relieved when she was dismissed from the hot seat, and allowed to move over to the tribute section off to the side. When she reached her seat over there though, she retained much of her tense posture. She wouldn't relax again until she was allowed to fade back into the shadows.

Dust came onto the stage booming with energy. He was wearing the fanciest of clothing- a tailored black suit, matching pants, silver cuff links, a hand-woven belt, the works- yet somehow he still managed to look looked in control though. The reckless boy who fired a paint ball gun in the training room was nowhere to be found.

"What's up Caesar?" Dust said.

"Oh, the usual. How about with you," Caesar replied casually, brushing off his purple suit as if to make himself look cooler.

"Just taking everything in," Dust replied. "Everything here is so big, I'm not used to it just yet."

"Bigger than District Six? I don't believe that for a second," Caesar shook his head.

"Okay not bigger, but maybe grander? That's a better word," Dust conceded.

"Now that I'll believe," Caesar smiled. "I'll have you know we're a very grand people."

Dust laughed. "I can tell. It's not just anywhere you can find people with gold-plated eyelashes."

"Really? I thought that was quite common," Caesar said. The audience laughed.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," Dust laughed along with them.

"So I know of course you're going to try your best to win in the arena," Caesar said, moving to a more serious topic. "But might I ask who you're looking to win for. Do you have a big family back at home?"

"I wouldn't say it's too big. I've got two sisters, May and Silvina, and a brother Gibbs. My parents own the local general store in the town. I help out with the work in the back sometimes. I know they were kind of crushed when I got picked, but I plan on coming home to them really soon. They'll get over it after I've won, I'm sure," Dust said. He picked his words carefully, knowing fully well the consequences of saying the wrong thing. He'd lose a lot more than sponsors if he screwed up. Luckily he was rather experienced at lying at this point. Nobody suspected a thing.

When the buzzer rang this time, the room filled with Caesar's intro music again. "Oh, well look at that, looks like it's time for our short intermission" Caesar said. "Stay tuned while we bring you the following messages."

The lights in the theatre flickered on as Capitolites began to chatter excitedly. Each one waiting with baited breath for the remaining six districts.

* * *

**A/N Geez I hate interviews. Have I mentioned that? But I guess they're kind of necessary, and I know they aren't nearly as boring for you as they are for me. So I hope you liked the first six districts. I'll be coming to you shortly with the next six. Only two more chapters until the bloodbath! Get excited! I'm excited! Whew!  
**

**Okay okay, I'll stop.**

**Until next time,**

**Tales**


	22. Interviews Part Two

Interviews Part Two

* * *

"Welcome back everyone. Ready to meet some more tributes?" Caesar Flickerman said, as the commercial break ended. The audience cheered their assent, and he called the next tribute, Kan Murcius, onto the stage. The crowd seemed to be reinvigorated now that the brief intermission had ended. The howled and hooted with new energy. Minerva leaned back in her chair, unimpressed by Kan's entrance. Her fellow citizens wouldn't be so impressed if they'd seen Kan as he was the other day, with an axe sticking out of his thigh after a botched attempt at decapitating a dummy.

Kan waved to them as he entered from the side curtain, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. He wasn't used to so much attention.

"Hi Caesar," the boy greeted, shaking Caesar Flickerman's hand in a firmly.

"Hello Kan," Caesar smiled back. "So, I must say, you look a lot leaner than most of our District Seven tributes. A little birdy told me that you've got a different skill set too. Want to let us all in on your secret?"

"Well I'm not a lumberjack," Kan said, as if it were obvious. The crowd nodded, many of them probably wondering why they hadn't noticed that before. "It's not that I don't work though. You know, with all the heavy tools that we use back in Seven, chopping down trees, a lot of people hurt themselves. I'm sort of like the on-site medic. I can patch up just about any injury, from broken bones to deep gashes."

"That could a useful skill in the Games," Caesar encouraged him.

"I hope not. I'd rather just not get injured in the first place," Kan joked.

"Well, you'll have to be a good fighter than. Think you're up for the job?" Caesar raised an eyebrow.

"Honestly, I'm a little nervous," Kan said, keeping his eyes trained on his hands. "But I think I'm about as prepared as anyone can be for the Games."

"Well said," Caesar nodded. "Ladies and gentleman, Kan Murcius."

The boy from Seven made his exit, and was quickly replaced by his District partner. Like Kan, she seemed to be going for the nice down-to-earth angle. She was slightly shyer than him though.

"I have to give your stylist a shout out, that dress your wearing is just fabulous," Caesar complimented her, having Rowan twirl for the audience. She blushed a deep red and smiled at him.

"Apparently it compliments my hair," she said, gesturing to the floor length earth toned gown she was wearing. "I wouldn't know though, fashion isn't my thing."

"I assure you it does," Caesar replied.

"Thanks, I guess," she said.

"So if fashion isn't your thing, what is? Tell us a little about your hobbies."

"Um, I never had that much free time at home. I guess hobbies aren't my thing either," Rowan shrugged.

"Well then what did you do all day," Caesar said with an exaggerated gesture.

"I worked. I did a lot of my neighbor's laundry on weekends, I have a night shift at the wood processing factory, I babysit a lot during the day. And my step mother never had a shortage of chores for me around the house," Rowan said.

"Wow, you must be exhausted," Caesar said.

Rowan rewarded him with a small smile. "It wasn't easy, but I did it. Guess you can say that's my advantage in the Games. I'm ready to work for my victory."

"You know, if you win, I'm sure you'll have enough money that you can go into early retirement. No more work for you," Caesar said.

"That's what I'm hoping for," Rowan nodded.

The buzzer rang loudly, signaling the end of the interview, and Rowan walked over to join Kan. Next up, Dice Bromton entered the stage. His face was blank. He neither smiled at the audience, nor was his face drawn in an intimidation tactic. The audience would never know it, but he was purposely trying to be mild. He had done enough to paint a target on his back. It didn't bother him that he was probably going to give up sponsors for downplaying himself here. He had earned his keep in life on his own so far, why should getting reaped change anything?

"And we have our brawler, the peacekeepers didn't hurt you too bad after your name was picked did they?" Caesar teased.

"Nope, I'm fine," Dice said.

"Well that's a relief. You had us all worrying. I must say though, your right hook is very impressive, I feel bad for the poor peacekeeper you hit," Caesar laughed.

"Yeah, um, I guess someone should tell that guy that I'm sorry. No hard feelings," Dice shrugged sheepishly.

"I think the other tributes should watch their back around you, obviously, you're not afraid of a good fist fight."

"I don't know. I was pretty mad. They probably shouldn't be as worried as they are," Dice shrugged. "I mean, unless someone really pisses me off in the arena. Then they might want to worry."

"Oh, I think he's being modest. A score of seven is nothing to be modest about. What do you think folks?" Caesar called. The audience roared. Off to the side of the stage, in the long line of seats where the tributes who had finished their interviews sat, Dust was making a big ordeal of yawning- a teasing joke for his ally.

When Dice was done underwhelming the crowd, he shrunk off to his seat. Avanna fluttered out onto the stage without much more promise. She was dressed in a knee length staples light blue dress, and her eyes shined with innocence.

"So, Avanna, what have you missed the most about District Eight since coming here?" Caesar began the interview.

"My family," Avanna answered immediately. "It's hard being away from all of them. My parents own a jewelry shop, and my siblings and I used to help out in it all the time, so we are all pretty close."

"How many brothers and sisters do you have," Caesar urged her on.

"Oh just two, my sister Elea who's seventeen, and my brother Merik who's six," she said. "They're both great. My sister, she's really smart and reliable. My parents are always telling her to watch out for Merik and I because we both wonder off sometimes. Then my little brother, well, he's his own person. He's little, but he doesn't like being babied."

"It sounds like you love them a lot," Caesar said.

"I do."

"Did you tell them anything special during your goodbyes?" Caesar asked.

Avanna's smile fell as her eyes softened. A sad acceptance fell over her, and the audience quieted, sensing this was a sensitive topic- the goodbyes usually were. "I told them that I wouldn't do anything stupid. My cousin was reaped a couple of years ago, Angora was picked, do you remember her? She died in the bloodbath because she tripped."

The audience didn't seem to have a response to that. Few of them remembered the cousin Avanna had mentioned. Only the most avid Hunger Games fans ever remembered bloodbath tributes. There were too many fallen for anyone to expect every name to be remembered.

"Well, it's good that you've learned from her mistake," Caesar said.

When the buzzer rang, Avanna seemed relieved. She didn't like being in the center of attention, it meant she couldn't allow her mind to wander.

Ghram Aintree walked out next, a wisp of a smile displayed on his lips. He gave the audience the tough-guy-nod instead of waving to them like most of the tributes had done. They cheered him on, encouraging his display of confidence.

"'Sup Ceasar," he said as he sat.

"'Sup with 'chu," Caesar replied with a poor District accent. The audience laughed.

"Nothing much," Ghram grinned back.

"So then Ghram, what do you think is going to be your biggest strength in the arena," Caesar inquired.

"Well, not to brag, but I think I'm a pretty good fighter," Ghram said. "I've had plenty of practice back at home. I have a perfect record actually. I don't lose."

Caesar raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. "A perfect record, that sounds impressive for someone so young. You know, there are a lot of people out there that would doubt you because of your age. What do you have to say to them?"

"That kid from Three is younger than me, and he got a score of nine. Now I know my score of five isn't as impressive, but I woke up that morning and my shoulder was sore. It was pretty unlucky, but it won't make a difference in the arena. Anyways, us kids from Nine have a good record. Velt Ganger two years ago made it all the way to the final five, and again, he was younger than me. I think I've got a really good chance, if you ask me," Ghram said.

"Oh, well, I'll make sure no one underestimates you," Caesar reassured him.

"I wouldn't want anyone wasting their money on a bunch of tributes who are going to lose anyway, you know," Ghram nodded.

"Maybe we should just call it now. Ladies and gentleman, I give to you the victor of the 66th Hunger Games," Caesar bellowed. The audience cheered loudly, and many of them laughed. "What? Oh, I've just received word that I'm not allowed to do that. I guess you'll just have to prove yourself in the arena like the rest of our great Victors."

Ghram laughed. "That will be no problem."

With that, the buzzer rang, and Ghram took his leave, and Zea made her appearance. The girl didn't smile as she shook Caesar's hand. Her face was calm and determined. She looked highly aware of everything around her as she gazed around at the audience, her bright eyes flickering from place to place.

"Now, Zea, are you scared about tomorrow? I know it's a big day for you," Caesar asked.

"No, I'm ready," Zea said. "I'm done waiting for things to start. What's going to happen is going to happen, and I'm ready to show everyone what I've got. I can be ruthless if I need to be."

"I don't doubt it," Caesar said. "So Zea, tell us a little bit about your life back at home. Is there any skills that you think will benefit you in the arena?"

"My father is a craftsman, and I've learned enough from watching him over the years. He made tools to help farm the grain. I used to help him, and I'm pretty handy. I have a lot of attention to detail because of it," Zea said.

"She's intuitive, crafty, and ruthless then. That's a full package if you ask me," Caesar declared, addressing the audience. The corner of Zea's mouth turned up, as she remained serenely calm in front of the audience. If she was nervous, her body language didn't betray her.

The conversation continued for another couple of moments. Zea managed to say just enough to keep the audience intrigued, but not too much that they might lose interest. They were all very eager to see more of this mystery girl, but not on the stage, in the arena.

"Looks like our time's up here, everyone, Zea Bachmeier," Caesar called. They clapped loudly for her. "Next up we have Whisper Releigh."

Whisper's entrance was quite underwhelming. The audience clapped for him with mild politeness, and he stooped over to Caesar, brooding already. He didn't even bother with the handshake, instead, he just sagged into the interview crowd, skipping over the introductions.

"Well well, looks like we've got a tough guy here," Caesar said, trying to it off.

Whisper rolled his eyes. "Do I look like a tough guy to you?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know," Ceasar said, raising his hand to his chin thoughtfully. "What do you guys think? Dark hair, arms crossed, angry eyes... looks like a tough guy to me." The crowd laughed at Caesar's joke while Whisper proceeded to roll his eyes yet again.

"I'd call guy kid from Two a tough guy," Whisper shook his head. "And I'd rather not be put into the same category him."

"Oh, you think you're better than him? I sense a challenge," Caesar asked. Over on the side, Vlad was cracking his knuckles with a smirk on his face.

"No, I don't think I'm better than him. I mean, I got a three, let's be honest, he's obviously stronger than me," Whisper said frankly. "I just would rather not be associated with the guy who signed up to die. Unlike him, I happen to value my life."

"You say that like you've already lost. Come on everyone, I think our friend Whisper here needs some encouragement," Caesar said. The crowd came to life, shouting kind words, whistling, and clapping for the boy. It was a rather impressive reaction actually. Obviously Whisper was entertaining them more than anyone had anticipated. "Do you here that, they love you! You can't count yourself out just yet."

"I never said I wouldn't try. I'm just being realistic," Whisper shrugged.

"Well, why don't you let us in a little bit on your strategy for the arena. Maybe that will help convince us all that your chances are better than you think. Do you have any allies for example?" Caesar offered.

"Allies? No thanks, I like my back knife-free," Whisper snorted.

"See, look at that, already thinking like a survivor," Caesar said. It was the buzzer that cut off Whisper's conversation, much to everyone's disappointment. Despite the sharpness of his tongue, Whisper seemed to be well liked. The crowd thought he was funny. "Let's see if his district partner lives up to her nickname, I present to you, Melivora, or Ranger as her friends call her, Capen."

Ranger walked out with an icy smirk already plastered on her face. She was wearing a peach dress that was covered in silver glitter. The outfit brought just enough color to the girl to avoid making her seem bleached, but it also highlight the elegant white of her hair. She looked quite regal as Caesar kissed her hand in greeting.

"I'm going to have to correct you Caesar," she said coldly, choosing to start the conversation as opposed to following it.

"Correct me? I must be getting old," he smiled.

"No, you didn't forget anything. I just don't want you misrepresenting my District. You said that my friends call me Ranger, well, they don't because I don't have many friends so to speak," Ranger explained.

"A pretty girl like you must have had some friends at home. You're exaggerating," Caesar said.

"No. In fact, most of my ever so kind neighbors hate me," she said.

"Well that's awful, how come?" Caesar said.

"I was a pretty... wild kid," she smirked, her eyes twinkling dangerously. "Unfortunately, I may have took some things too far."

"You're reformed now though?" he inquired.

"Yeah, there's this guy back at home. He helped me through a lot. I owe my life to him because I don't know where I'd be without him," Ranger said seriously. "And I told him I would do anything, and I mean anything, to win."

"Sounds like you're a pretty big threat then," Caesar raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, very much so," Ranger nodded.

"Can we get the name of this boy then? Are you two dating? You know we all love some good gossip," Caesar asked.

"His name is Hadyn Phob, and yes, he's my boyfriend," Ranger nodded.

With that, the buzzer rang, and Ranger took her leave. Up next, Damien walked onto the stage, escorted by a stage-hand. He held an expensive cane in front of him, knocking it back and forth to find the chair. It seemed like he was taking a completely different angle than Airin, who had tried to downplay the disadvantage blindness hindered him with. Instead, Damien was trying to look as weak as possible, probably playing on the Capitolites' sympathies.

"You look like you've been having some trouble these past few days," Caesar said, his voice full of empathy.

"Yeah, it's hard being in an unfamiliar environment. We all can't be intimidating careers who've been trained to overcome their blindness from birth," Damien nodded.

"Have you been blind your entire life?" Caesar shook his head, and promptly began retelling the highly dramatic tale of how he had fallen off his roof. He up-played the more heart-breaking aspects of his story, like how the lemonade stand he'd lost his sight to had been set up in hopes of earning some money to donate to the local orphanage.

"The day that the doctors broke the news to me was the worst day of my life. I must have cried for months, but I've recovered from then. Just these past few years I had finally gotten used to it. I'd gotten back to school, and was starting to learn to read brail," Damien shook his head sadly. Over to the side, Airin's posture was rigid as he clenched his jaw. Rocio patted him on the shoulder, apparently trying to comfort him, though it wasn't quite clear why he needed comforting.

"Are you looking at the Games optimistically then?" Caesar asked, his voice quite and respectful.

"As optimistically as I can. It's not going to be easy, but I'm going to try my best. I know that I only got a one in my training, but I don't think I should be counted out just yet. As long as I'm still breathing, I'll still be fighting," Damien said.

"Well that's the right attitude," Caesar said. "Everyone give it up for Damien." The audience clapped as they sent Damien sad looks. Nobody really thought he had a chance.

When Cree walked out, her bright smile and short cocktail dress was a relief for the audience. They needed someone to distract them from the pity they were feeling towards her District partner.

"Hello Caesar," she said eagerly.

"My my, you seem very excited Cree," Caesar commented.

"Well of course I'm excited, it's the Hunger Games," Cree said.

"I love that, it's always nice to see some Panem pride from our citizens in the districts," Caesar smiled.

"Well, I wouldn't have it any other way, my father is a peacekeeper you know," Cree said.

"Really, that must have been hard, I know some peacekeepers do a lot of traveling," Caesar frowned.

"It's been very hard. I've only had to relocate once, but it was a big move. I grew up in District One, but when I was twelve my father got transferred to District Eleven. All of my friends were back in One, so it was definitely rough," Cree nodded.

"District One? You wouldn't happen to have known Rubin and Porcelain?" Caesar inquired.

"Well, I didn't know Rubin well, but Cree and I used to go to school together," Cree said.

"Wonderful. You must be so happy to see them again," Caesar said.

"Yes, it's a shame how things are though. There can only be one victor, and I intend it to be me," Cree declared, quite determined. The audience rewarded her enthusiasm with a cheer that was equally upbeat.

"I wish you good luck," Caesar nodded, as the buzzer rang.

Burnet certainly had the crowd in the palm of his hand from the moment he walked onto the stage. With his head held high, he jogged over to Ceasar and offered the talk show host his fist. Caesar awkwardly obliged, making a show of his own confusion. With much patience, Burnet showed the man that they were supposed to bump their fists together. Then Burnet exploded his fist into a flat palm, confusing Caesar further. By the time they had sorted out their greeting, the audience was in hysterics.

"You've got to learn how we do it in the Districts Caesar," Burnet grinned. "You're too sheltered here in the Capitol."

"I can see. You'll have to take me on vacation out to Twelve with the money you win from your victory right?" Caesar replied.

"I promise, you'll be the first name on my victory party guest list," Burnet promised.

"I'll hold you to that," Caesar said. "So then Burnet," he quieted, making as if he was going to ask a serious question. "I have to ask, is it just a coincidence you share a name with District Twelve's late victor, Burnet Howett, or is there something more there?"

The audience laughed, and so did Burnet.

"Well, I'd like to say it was a coincidence, but you know, I did find a box of Burnet Howett posters stashed in my mom's attic once. There was all these weird lipstick marks on it. It was pretty scarring," Burnet said, holding his hands up.

"Definitely a coincidence," Caesar grinned. The audience howled with laughter. "Now Burnet, tell us about your strengths, do you think the Games will treat you well?"

"Of course they will," Burnet said. "I mean, have you seen these guns, they're bigger than that other guy's... Odair, I think is name was?" He flexed his lanky arms in a mock display of his strength. Someone in the back whistled.

"I don't know, I can't see them," Caesar said, squinting at Burnet's arms.

"It's the suit man, The stylists clearly didn't make it tight enough," Burnet shrugged.

The buzzer rang, again interrupting another successful interview. As Cutter walked out onto the stage, she knew that the crowd's expectations were high. The other's had all set the bar very high for her.

"So Cutter, what's your favorite thing about the Capitol so far?" Caesar asked.

"Definitely not the make-overs," Cutter answered wrinkling her nose.

Caesar laughed. "What's not to like about make-overs. I know I always feel fabulous after my stylist finishes with me."

"Well I've made a new worst enemy here, it's called hair removal. Getting waxed is not fun, and I don't really understand why they had to wax everything. I mean, people aren't going to be seeing everything," Cutter said in her matter-of-fact tone. "They had me worried before the chariot rides, I thought we were going to be nude again."

The audience laughed.

"Well I assure you, the pain was worth it, you're looking gorgeous tonight," Caesar complimented her.

"And what? I didn't look gorgeous during the reaping?" Cutter said sarcastically as she crossed her arms. The audience laughed again because Caesar had been backed into a tough corner there.

"Uh oh," Caesar said. "I meant to say, no Cutter, you look gorgeous all the time."

She smiled, blushing slightly as she did so. "That's what I thought you said," she smirked.

Cutter and Caesar continued their banter back and forth for another few minutes before the final buzzer rang, ending the interviews. "Well, it's been one exciting night," Caesar said. "Let's give all our tributes a big farewell. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for them."

And a big day it was going to be indeed.

* * *

**A/N That was painful. It's over though, no more interviews for me, at least for now. Next chapter will take us to the arena. **

**So QuietConspiracy, the creator of Cutter, wants to know if anyone would be interested in a story where Finding the Light tributes go to Hogwarts, so sort of like an AU spin off to this story? I would have to send her all the tribute forms for this, so if someone has an issue with this, please speak now, either in a review, or via a pm. Otherwise, is that something you all would be interested in? Let me, or her know.**

**Any who, get excited for the arena chapters!**

**Until next time,**

**-Tales**


	23. Jump Into the Fog

Jump Into the Fog

"We feel nothing so jump into the fog, I just hope it's your bones that shatter, not mine."

* * *

Crescent could feel her hands shaking as she darted off the stage. Her eyes flickered nervously around, looking for her shadows. That had been the most terrifying experience of her life. The lights were everywhere, making all familiarity flee. They expected her to talk under those circumstances, away from her friends. They didn't understand.

Just behind the stage curtain, Metro waited for her. He looked bored, as he watched her approach. "Hey," he greeted sullenly. "Well, you didn't die, but that's about the only compliment I think I can give you."

"Move out of my way," she hissed. It didn't matter whether she did well or not. She didn't care about sponsors. Didn't anyone understand that she just wanted to be left alone? She was happy before she was forced to come here. Things would be better tomorrow in the arena. Even if there were cameras following her everywhere, at least then she would feel as if she was alone.

"Well then," Metro rolled his eyes. Her mentor was used to this by now though. He knew that she wanted nothing to do with him, or anyone. With a sigh, he spun around, and began to follow her. "Avion isn't going to be happy that we didn't wait for him," Metro mumbled to nobody in particular as he got into the elevator with Crescent.

The lights were dimmer in the elevator, and Crescent allowed herself to relax slightly. In the corners of the compartment, she could see shadows leaking onto the floor. She could hear them whispering to her. _Don't worry Crescent, it's over now, we're back._ She didn't respond to them though, not in front of Metro. Things would be better when she was in her room, surrounded by complete darkness. Then she would spill her soul to the shadows, and allow relief to truly take her.

"So, not that you care, but tonight would probably be the time to get a good night's sleep. You know, big day tomorrow and stuff," Metro said. She didn't respond, and he didn't seem to care. When the elevator door opened on her floor, she shot through it, and ran to her room. Metro's mumbling settled in the air behind her as she slammed her door shut behind her.

With the window curtains drawn, and a carpet tucked against the crack at the bottom of the door, not even a single ray of light was able to penetrate her dark domain. Finally, they were together again.

* * *

Rocio stared at herself in the mirror of her bathroom as she splashed water on her face. It was well passed midnight, and she knew that she should be sleeping; however, her nerves were running too high for her to find any rest. She couldn't escape the nagging worry that she was going to die tomorrow. Of course, her alliance should theoretically keep her safe, at least for the bloodbath. She knew that eventually, one of them was probably going to be her killer. That was generally how things went for careers. They thrived as a group until they weren't a group anymore and they killed each other off.

She thought she had come to terms with the idea of her own death. She wasn't going to win because she refused to become a killer. She'd almost killed her father once, and she had forever lived regretting that day and all of it's consequences. There just weren't victors who didn't kill though. Even Clio Rover who technically didn't have any kills on his stat sheet, had deceived three tributes into crossing paths with death. He didn't have to live with the sight of their bodies caked with blood laying lifeless underneath his dirty hands, no, but their lives were on his conscience.

Rocio wouldn't even settle for that kind of victory. She needed to stick to her morals. Only then would she find her redemption.

Seymour Yew's words nagged her though. _Let's see what you do when your life's on the line. _The next couple of days were going to challenge her, she knew it. At some point she was going to be threatened, and it was going to be a test of will for her to keep true to her morals. She had to do it though. She was going to die. Just thinking about it made a hard lump begin to form in her throat. There were so many things in life that she would never get to experience, so many lost opportunities, so many apologies that would never be voiced.

With a determined sigh, Rocio's thoughts drifted to Airin. He was a good guy. Hopefully he would win. She most certainly didn't want any of her other allies to take the crown. They didn't know the meaning of humility. Someone else from the outer districts should win. That would be just.

Closing her eyes, Rocio tried to swallow her thoughts and empty her mind. That didn't seem to be a possibility though.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Up up. It's a beautiful day outside, we've got to get you moving," a high-pitched female voice cooed.

Whisper moaned as he dragged himself into the sitting position. "Oh yeah, beautiful day to die," he mumbled as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. To his surprise, it was his stylist, Juniper, who woke him, not Eve. Not that there was much of a difference between the two. They were both unnaturally peppy and liked to tell him what to do.

"She's off getting you sponsors," Juniper said, answering his unspoken question. "Now hurry up, I laid out a cotton shirt and sweat pants for you. You'll get the arena cloths in the catacombs."

"Swell," Whisper muttered as he took his cloths from her. She turned around politely while he changed quickly. The second he finished, she ushered him out into the common area. Ranger was sitting at the table, picking at a huge pile of waffles.

"What are you looking at," she said icily as he walked into the room.

"The massive amount of food that you're eating. Careful, you might puke during the bloodbath. It wouldn't be the first time," he replied.

"I'd be eating a big breakfast too if I were you. Unless you happen to know where your next meal will be coming from. Of course, if your worried about keeping it down, well, it's your funeral," Ranger said simply.

"I think I'll be fine thanks," Whisper mumbled, settling for a small bowl of cereal. He supposed he would miss these mornings with Ranger once in the arena. She was a bitter unfriendly girl, but he didn't mind all that much. They were good District partners for each other. It wasn't often that he met someone even half as sarcastic as himself. Although, he wouldn't call her a friend, not by a long shot.

Breakfast ended too quickly. Before the two knew it, they were being escorted towards the escalator, towards certain doom

* * *

"Hurry up Trib," his stylist beckoned.

Dice sighed as he followed the older woman towards the hulking hovercraft that had been prepared for them. "Hey Styles, how long are we going to be on that thing?" he asked nervously. The thought of being up in the sky, trapped in a metal contraption for an extended period of time made him uneasy. On the other hand, of course, a longer ride would mean a longer time until the bloodbath. He wasn't sure which option was better.

"As long as it takes to get there," the woman responded.

Dice nodded. He liked his stylist, sort of. She had some long Capitol name that he couldn't remember to save his life, so he just called her Styles. In response, she'd started calling him Trib. He figured it was a fair trade seeing that he was probably going to die before the two really got to know each other anyways.

The inside of the hovercraft reminded him faintly of the train with it's fancy decorations and overly extravagant atmosphere. They were led into a private room that was basically just a large seating area. There weren't any other tributes in the room. The Capitol would be keeping them separate until the bloodbath started now. Last night was the last time he would see Dust outside of the arena.

"Nervous yet?" Styles asked him.

He grunted, and rubbed his hands together. He wanted to remember what this moment felt like because at least in this instant he was safe and he was whole. He didn't want to think about what was coming. He thought he was ready for it, but he was wrong. Nobody would ever feel ready for the Games.

"Look on the bright side," Styles said.

"What bright side?" Dice mumbled.

"I don't know, but I'm sure there is one. You'll just have to find it," Styles smirked.

He rolled his eyes. "Gee thanks."

"Any time Trib."

* * *

The hovercraft came to a soft halt, but Petro could still feel it buck slightly as their descent started. His nervous eyes flickered over to Lupa who had been watching him carefully during the entire ride, as if to gauge his feelings. Luckily he had always been a good actor. If she knew how dead he felt at the moment, she'd probably get upset.

"We're here," she said softly.

"Yup," he deadpanned.

Her lips pursed, but she didn't say anything. Instead she simply stood up and lead him over to the door. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"Guess so," he nodded.

She pushed the door open, and he followed her through several hallways until they ended up at a hatch with a ladder to lower them off the hovercraft. Along the way he caught glimpses of the other tributes- the girl from Two walking briskly, Auden's silhouette shaking slightly, Cutter's district partner stretching his arms. It appeared everyone was trying to prepare themselves in whatever way they could.

As for Petro, well, he figured he was as prepared as they got. He wasn't going to flat out give up, but he had come to terms with the possibility of his death. He knew that was where he had been headed for years now. He just had never been able to take that last step, ending his misery forever so that he could rejoin his mother. At least here, he wouldn't have to do it himself.

The ladder lowered them directly into his personal catacomb. It was a simple stoney room with only a small desk and two chairs as furniture. In the corner of the room there was an empty tube. That must be what would take him into the arena. Turning back towards Lupa, he found that she was examining his cloths.

"What have they got me in?" he asked.

"It seems to be a cotton shirt with a wool tunic over it, wool pants, and leather boots," she muttered, looking thoughtful. He walked over and took a look at the clothing too. As she had said, he would be wearing a cotton long sleeve shirt on the bottom. It was loose-fitting with elastic at the end of the sleeves. On top of that he would have a dark brown tunic on that had the number five stitched on the breast. It came with a long brown belt for the waist as it appeared to be slightly longer than the average shirt. A tough string was laced up the center of the chest, to help keep it closed. The pants again were also loose, and a light green color, and the boots went up to his knees.

The entire outfit looked rather dated, except for the simple soft white underwear that was set next to it. It definitely didn't look like it was built for excessive running and movement. As he slipped into it, he found that the wool pants were uncomfortable against his skin, and the boots were probably going to start hurting his feet if he did a lot of walking.

"What's it mean?" he asked Lupa nervously. "Um, you don't think it's going to be a small arena do you?"

"I don't know," she sighed honestly.

Petro chewed his lip, and pulled on the sleeves. At least the outfit covered his cuts.

"Tributes please prepare for launch," a kind female voice announced.

"That's your cue," Lupa said quietly.

Petro stood up, and prepared to walk into the huge metal tube in the corner. Lupa grabbed his arm though, stopping him. With nervous eyes, he glanced over at her. Suddenly, her arms were wrapped tight around him, encasing him in a huge hug. He stiffened.

"You do your best okay kiddo? And please... just keep your head out there," she said, her voice quiet. Petro knew what she meant- no more cutting. He didn't respond, choosing to endure the hug in silence. When she released him he stepped back into the tube, ready to die. He wondered if his face mirrored Lupa's. Where his features etched with pain? Did he look so grieved? He couldn't be sure.

Of course, Lupa was probably grieving over the end of her career. He didn't think he stood out too much in the group of tributes. If he didn't do well, she'd probably lose her job, or at least get demoted to District Twelve or something. Nobody could possibly be that devastated over his death. Nobody cared that much, not even himself.

"Knock them dead," Lupa called after him sardonically as his platform began to rise.

He swallowed hard. "I will," he lied. "I'll try."

Then she was gone.

Blinking, Petro looked around. His eyes didn't have to adjust abruptly the way he was expecting them to. No, they were inside.

The first thing he registered was the Cornucopia. It was located in the middle of the room, an equip-distance away from all the tributes, as always. That was where the similarities ended. Unlike most years, it did not lie flat, instead, it's tip erupted from the tall ceiling as it twisted down to the ground like a huge green ivy tendril. It snaked around, its green metallic sides encrusted with thousands of shining gems, until it connected with the hard stone floor, creating a tunnel that was open on both ends. Inside, Petro could see the usual goods- food, weapons, water, supplies.

Petro forced himself to look away and scan the rest of the room. It was built of some kind of brown stone with regal pillars protruding occasionally from the floor. In the center, a scarlet red carpet covered the cold floor. The carpet ran from one side of the room to the other, lining a path way that lead straight through the Cornucopia. On one side of the carpet, there was a massive wooden door that stood open, leading to another stone room. On the other side, the carpet folded into steps that led up to a raised platform. A single massive marble chair that was upholstered with purple velvet cloth stood on top of the platform, just behind the boy from Two. A golden crown rested atop the chair.

It's a throne, Petro thought. That would make this a throne room.

On the wall behind it, three arched windows allowed natural light to stream into the room. The center window was stain-glass, and it was melded into a picture of President Snow, decked out in clothing fit for a king, wearing a crown that was much nicer than the one sitting ontop of the throne. His coal-black beady eyes looked down at the tributes as a cool smirk rested on his face. He was ready for the show.

Out the other two windows, Petro could see a glimpse of some kind of village, and a forest beyond that. There were two smaller wooden doors on the walls to the left and right. He swallowed hard. That meant there were only three exits, unless someone planned on jumping out a window. This wasn't good.

* * *

**A/N. Hiya, so this was an exciting chapter for me because now you've gotten a peak at the arena (I say peak because that's all you really get in this instant. I'm really proud of my arena this time around). From this point on all chapters are going to be titled after a song and start with a quote from that song. This chapter was "Jump Into the Fog" by the Wombats. Next chapter: the bloodbath!**

**On that note, I feel like now is the time to say this, but as you guys know there will only be one winner and that means that 23 of these characters will be dying over the next 20 or so chapters (that's my estimate for how long the story will be by the by). You should assume your character will be among the deceased. If your character dies please know it was nothing personal. The sheer fact that they got accepted into my story means I like them. My decision making is made off of realism and also personal bias. Of course, I'll explain exactly why I made every decision in the obituaries at the end of each chapter. Know that I am keeping the characters I enjoy and think I'm good at writing longer in the interest of making a good story. I do hope that you'll keep reading even after your character gets killed. If not, well, I guess we don't have much more to say to each other.**

**(Oh yeah, also we hit 200 reviews recently! Thank you guys so much, I really appreciate the support!)**

**Until next time,**

**-Tales**


	24. The King and All of His Men

The King and All of His Men

"Well you can fight it but you know you won't get your way in the end."

* * *

_24_

Vlad smirked, they put him at the foot of the massive throne. He had a clear path through the Cornucopia and to the front entrance- the main escape. Clearly they wanted him to have a high kill count.

_23_

Rowan felt her heart pounding violently in her chest. She could see Kan five tributes to her left, and Zea three to her right, but Avanna was out of sight. They had to gather before they left the throne room. They couldn't afford to separate from each other just yet.

_22_

Cracking his knuckles, Ghram's eyes scanned his nearest enemies. He wasn't yet sure who he was going to pick a fight with, just that whoever it was would soon be seeing stars.

_21_

The countdown was making her panic. The rhythmic beating made her pulse spike, yet she prayed that it would never end. Auden wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready to die.

_20_

Damien swayed on his podium, trying to catch a glimpse at each face without making it too obvious he was looking. The girl from Two was only three tributes away from him, but other than that he was in good shape. Airin was nowhere to be seen.

_19_

Airin held his breath as he perked his ears, trying to catch every small nuance that travelled through the air. He was the only one that didn't know what the arena was yet, and he wouldn't know until the bloodbath was over. Taking extreme care, he lowered himself down so that he was sitting pretzel style on his podium. He had to make sure he was paying attention, lest he let someone get too close.

_18_

Kan's eyes were trained on President Snow's mosaic. He felt as if the man's eyes might pierce through him any second. The small smirk on the President's face said it all. The Capitol was ready for blood to spill. Kan could only hope that he would have enough time to stitch his own alliance up by the end of the day.

_17_

Avell glanced around the room with the eyes of an expert strategist. He needed to memorize every crevice now, before the room was cluttered with the bodies of the dead and the sins of the living. He wouldn't stick around to see any of them fall, of course, but still he had to know. These few moments would be his advantage when he returned later.

_16_

Dust licked his lips as he bent into an athletic crouch. It was going to be the first time he got to run for his life in almost three weeks. Hopefully he hadn't gotten too rusty, otherwise, the chase might actually be close.

_15_

Rubin craned his neck, trying to locate all of his allies. He wanted to find District Four because well, he didn't trust that either of them were well equipped for the bloodbath. As he spotted Airin sitting down lazily on his podium, Rubin's suspicions were confirmed. It was okay though. As leader, he didn't plan on letting any of his allies die today.

_14_

Cutter had gotten lucky. Petro and Auden were both close to her. They had their get away strategy set, and now all that was left was the execution. Hopefully Auden calmed down before it was too late though. She could tell that the girl from Three was freaking out even from five pedestals away.

_13_

Crossing her arms, Mae straightened her back as she looked critically from one opponent to the next. She could tell from their expressions that none of them were up to her standards. It was ironic actually. This arena was perfect for her because in the end, she deserved a victory fit for a queen.

_12_

Cree felt nervous for the first time. This entire week she had been playing pretend career, trying to live out a dream that she had buried ages ago. Now she was going to finally be tested though, and she wasn't quite ready to be thrown into the fray. Why did she ever think she was ready for this?

_11_

Burnet jumped up and down on the balls of his feet, ready to launch himself into the heart of the Cornucopia for a weapon. He could see a shiny pick-axe resting against the jeweled outer wall, and he could already feel the smooth wooden handle in his hand. They had put that weapon there for him. It was his.

_10_

Whisper sighed. So here he was, finally standing in front of Hell's gate. He wondered idly if it was going to hurt when he died. He hoped it wouldn't, but with his luck, it was probably going to be agonizing. He just hoped that Lyric had the common sense to keep his siblings away from the television screen. He didn't want them to watch this.

_9_

Porcelain clicked her tongue impatiently. With cold eyes, she gazed around the circle, trying to decide who would be her first victim. She didn't care so much for killing- it was dirty work. But there was no denying that she would enjoy watching them scream. Pain had always been her forte.

_8_

For once, Petro's mind was completely clear, his pulse was even, and his muscles focused. Cutter had told them to forget about the supplies, that it wasn't worth it. He disagreed though. There was a small crate just big enough to fit under his arm. He bet there was food in there- food that could sustain them for at least a few days. He would get it, then race to catch up with his allies. If he was successful, Cutter couldn't be mad. If he wasn't, well, he was going to end up dead anyway. Better sooner than later.

_7_

This was too much for Avanna to take in. The scene before her was breathtaking, in a morbid way. Everything from the golden crown atop the throne to the jewel encrusted Cornucopia, to President Snow's watchful eyes was incredibly regal. In an odd way, it comforted her knowing that this was going to be her arena. She wanted to die in the presence of beauty.

_6_

Rocio wasn't quite panicking, but the temptation was there. Three lethal spears were piled tall just feet away from her. She wondered if Seymour Yew specifically requested that they be placed there. She wouldn't be surprised. Shaking her head, she tried to shake the nerves off of her skin, unsuccessfully. Just stick to your plan, she reminded herself. Everything was going to be alright... Maybe.

_5_

Ranger resisted the urge to growl. There weren't words to describe the feeling of utter determination that pulsed through her. This was it. This was her moment. She hoped that everyone was watching back at home because by the time all of this was over, they'd be ashamed of themselves. And of course, Hayden, he would be proud.

_4_

Dice was suddenly acutely aware of his own bulk. He felt powerful and ready. Dust was just around the bend, a huge smirk written plainly on his face. Dice couldn't help but copy his ally, his friend. The two of them were about to take this arena by storm.

_3_

Hostile. That was how she felt. The room was bright, light played against the walls, bouncing off everything. She didn't like it here. She wanted, no, needed her darkness. She just needed to be left alone. That was all.

_2_

Zea's eyes flicked around silently. The time for planning was over. Now she would be putting all of the thousands of thoughts she had contemplated over the past week into action. As she had mentioned in her interview, she was ready, but only to an extent. The doubt was there, a persistent nagging force in the back of her mind. It was too late to doubt herself now. It was time.

_1_

In a single instant, the world was set in motion. The building tension peaked and collapsed into mayhem. The mad dash towards the Cornucopia was swift. Alexis launched herself off of her platform, sprinting wildly, her eyes searching for the first sharp object to catch her eye. She would search for her axe later, but now speed was more important than petty preferences.

Her hand closed around a deadly looking sword, and she spun, just in time to see a blaze of blonde hair darting across the room towards an exit. She smirked. Even though he had his arms splayed out as he wildly felt around in front of him, it was obvious that he was acting. He was jogging straight towards an exit that he shouldn't be able to see. It appeared Airin was right.

In that case, she had a mission to accomplish.

As Alexis darted away from the Cornucopia, Petro darted towards it. His eyes were locked on the crate he had targeted earlier. Auden was still on her pedestal, watching in horror as he ran, and Cutter halted, half way to the door.

Petro reached the crate unharmed, as sweat began to drip on his brow. Tucking it under his arm, he found that it was lighter than he expected. Whatever was inside of it didn't clatter around either. He didn't have time to think about it though. They'd look inside later.

"Drop the crate," someone demanded. Petro spun to see the girl from Four approaching him cautiously, her eyes looking uneasy. He faced her bravely though, noting that she didn't have a weapon.

"Kill me first," he breathed. He could feel his heart thumping in his ears as his lungs burned.

Rocio gritted her teeth, dropping into an athletic crouch. She was standing in between her quarry and the closest exit. Petro made a sudden move to his left, darting towards the bigger exit on the far wall. She chased him.

She wouldn't kill him, she thought to herself, but she wouldn't allow him to get away with any supplies. That way she would be helping her allies without betraying her morals. It was the perfect plan. Petro had no chance of outrunning her- years of gymnastics training had taught her well.

Bam.

Cutter appeared out of nowhere, planting her fist squarely in Rocio's gut. She cried out as the wind was knocked from her lungs. "Auden, come on," Cutter called as she moved to flank Petro. The girl from Three finally found the will to move, and together they ran out through the two huge doors in the front of the throne room.

On the side, Avell smirked as he disappeared behind one of the smaller doors. Good, he thought to himself, Auden had made it out of the room safely.

At the foot of the steps that led up to the throne, Rubin's eyes searched for his target. He held his spear in his hand as his eyes found Dust, stuffing knives into his belt. Beside the boy from Six, Dice was strapping a huge bag onto his back. Rubin sprinted forwards, just in time to make eye-contact with Dust.

"Time's up," he cried to Dice.

Dice grunted and the two were on their feet in an instant, racing towards one of the smaller doors on the side. Rubin raced after them, feeling his broad muscles burn. He knew that it was hopeless the minute his prey was half way across the room. Clearly they both had experience with running.

Quickly, Rubin searched for someone new. It was no use wasting time on someone who was already lost.

Meanwhile, Whisper was in the heart of the Cornucopia, grabbing a rope. He wasn't stupid. He knew that the bloodbath probably wasn't going to end once he was out of this room. There were only three exits, he couldn't take any of them if he was going to live. No, he'd take the window.

As he sprinted up the steps towards his makeshift exit, he tried to drain out the commotion around him. The boys from Nine and Twelve were facing off with the boy from Two, while the girls from Five and Six raided through supplies on the outskirts of the Cornucopia. Their antics couldn't matter to him though. He had to get out the window.

There was a pole just a couple of feet in front of his escape hatch. That would work perfectly as his anchor. With the expert hands of an experienced thief, Whisper tied one end of his rope around the pole, and the other around his waste. Running over to the window, he glanced down.

It was a long drop, but there appeared to be a moat surrounding the castle. If his rope got cut, he might get lucky enough to fall in the water.

He had waited long enough. Turning around, he stepped out into the small ledge on the other side of the window. This was it, his moment of truth.

Pain. It came from nowhere, radiating throughout his stomach. He glanced down, finding the point of a spear protruding from the front of his tunic. Behind him, Rubin grimaced at the sight of Whisper's blood. With a bitter smile, Whisper shook his head. He would be the first one to die.

And with that, his body went plummeting out the window. Rubin could only hope that the boy was long dead by the time he hit the ground. But now wasn't the time to be regretful.

Ranger swallowed as she watched her District partner disappear over the ledge. On her back, she carried a pack stuffed to the brim with supplies, and in her hand she held a broad sword. She only took a moment to catch a glimpse of Whisper's killer's face before she darted off out the smaller right door. Perhaps she'd take her time killing Rubin Royal should she ever get the chance.

"Well, that most certainly wasn't very courageous of you," Mae said, holding up a knife at the hulking career boy.

Rubin spun around, away from Whisper's falling body to find the small girl smirking at him. His eyes fell on her weapon wearily. He felt vulnerable- Whisper had taken Rubin's spear with him out the window. Mae's mouth twitched as she stabbed forwards. She was about to show the gamemakers just how foolish they were for giving her a one.

Rubin side stepped her though, allowing his training to kick in. Twisting her arm behind her neck, he squeezed the girl's wrist until her knife went clattering to the floor. She swallowed, completely astonished. This was impossible. She had the advantage- he had been weaponless. He should be dead.

"Training kid. It helps," Rubin said as he threw the girl to the floor and quickly grabbed her knife, stabbing it through her chest, leaving her lifeless.

Across the room, Vlad grunted as he took another lunge at the boy from Nine, only to find Twelve's knife cutting through his cheek. He had been fighting both of the smaller boys for several seconds now, and was having more difficulty than he would have liked. The two boys must have had some prior experience fist fighting because between the two of them, they were holding their own.

Glancing around, he looked for his allies. He needed back up. Alexis and Porcelain were nowhere to be found. Airin was sitting on his pedestal, useless without his sight. Rocio was on the ground clutching her stomach. Rubin was sprinting out of one of the exits, chasing somebody. Cree. Where was Cree?

"Eleven!" Vlad demanded as he slashed forwards with his sword.

"Here," Cree called from across the room.

"Help me," Vlad cried back.

Cree abandoned the girl from Six, who she had been circling, and sprinted over to Vlad's aid. She also had a sword in her hand- it was the first thing that they taught her at the academy and one of the few things she had retained.

"Ha, think she's going to make things easier for you," Burnet smirked as he ducked under Vlad's sword.

Cree lunged at him as she arrived, her blade grazing the front of his tunic. Ghram had his allies back though, as he dug forwards with his knife, cutting a gash in Cree's forearm. She yelped as she backed off, Vlad huffing beside her. With a sudden battle cry he lunged forwards, slashing his sword wildly.

Burnet and Ghram split down the middle, forcing him to choose one of them. He went after the younger of the two, leaving Burnet for Cree. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she eyed Burnet's knife carefully. She needed to be careful to take a proper opening.

Meanwhile, Vlad was still slashing at Ghram. The boy from Nine bounced backwards, until Vlad was suddenly standing between Burnet and him. A victorious smile flashed onto the career's face as he suddenly spun around swinging his sword in a full arch.

"Switch Cree," he demanded as his sword sunk into Burnet's neck. The boy from Twelve wasn't expecting it. His full attention had been on Cree. He had been taking her lightly, toying with the fight. He had let his guard down. Cree watched with wide eyes as Vlad's sword nearly decapitated Burnet. He hadn't quite gathered enough power to slice through the spine though, so the boy's head simply lolled to the side it's weight bringing the entire body down with him.

Ghram's breath hitched, and he could feel his tongue suddenly turn into sand paper. They had been winning just seconds ago. This couldn't be happening. Releasing a slight whimper, Ghram turned on his heels and started running, swallowing the emotion. He wondered what Milo thought of him now, as he ran like a hopeless runt. Did he think him a coward?

Vlad stared at the corpse as he caught his breath, feeling his determination growing. What he had done wasn't pretty, but it was necessary. This was his path to victory. The sound of a door swinging shut behind him brought him back to his senses. Cree was still with him.

"I thought I told you to switch," he said urgently. "You're letting that kid get away." Cree didn't have time to answer because Vlad was already off, racing to fix her mistake.

As Vlad slipped through the small door on the right wall, Porcelain sulked through the hallway behind the opposite one. She could hear the footsteps of District Seven's alliance just ahead. They had slowed down, assuming that no one was following them.

It was probably reasonable to think this, if Porcelain wasn't tailing them the way she was. The door had led to a brightly lit hallway that immediately forked and then forked again. The halls were almost all identical. The floors, walls, and ceilings were all made of the same brown stone the thrown room was built with, and there were various decorations-carpets, portraits, torches, ect. -here and there.

"Hurry up, we need to find an exit," a female voice said urgently.

"Sorry," another, also a girl, panted. "I'm not used to running."

"None of us are," a boy said firmly.

Porcelain smiled as she peered around a corner, seeing the four of them jogging down a straightaway, towards what appeared to be a dimly lit winding stair well. She took her opportunity and sprinted forwards silently. She had a knife in her hand as she ran. Closing the distance was simple.

Leaping forwards, her hands clamped around the girl furthest back, and she twisted her knife forwards, pressing it against the girl's throat. She screamed, thrashing slightly. The sudden noise made her alliance spin alarmed.

"Rowan," the boy cried out urgently. Beside him, the girl from Eight let out a choked gasp. They looked panicked; Porcelain ate up the sight.

"Go. Go it's too late," Rowan choked back. Porcelain tightened her grip on her knife, pressing it so that a small dribble of blood leaked from the girl's throat.

Just before the boy sprinted forwards to save his district partner, the taller blonde girl from Nine reached out and grabbed his arm. "No," she said forcefully. Eight remained planted in place- frozen, unable to move.

That was Porcelain's cue. She ripped her knife through the girl's trachea, and watched the agony twitch through her allies faces. The boy screamed out the girl's name again as the blonde started dragging both him and Eight down the stairwell. Porcelain didn't bother engaging in the chase. As she said before, it was the pain she enjoyed, and killing them now would take all the fun out of things.

Back at the Cornucopia, things were beginning to calm down. Rocio recovered from the blow that Cutter had dealt her as Vlad disappeared behind the door chasing Ghram. She sat up slowly as smile on her face. The danger was over, at least for now.

"Airin, you okay?" she called over.

Airin, who was still sitting on his pedestool looked up at the sound of her voice. "I'm feeling just fine," he responded. "Is it over?"

"Yup. I think your good to go," she smiled.

"'Mkay well where are we then?" he inquired. Cree watched with a twinge of jealously as Rocio started to vividly describe their surroundings. She wished that she had someone like that, someone to trust unconditionally. No, she just had Vlad yelling at her for messing up, and Rubin and Porcelain who Cree wasn't quite ready to kill herself for. No matter how nice any of these careers pretended to be towards Cree, she could sense an undertone of competitive distrust. It bothered her.

Cree walked back into the Cornucopia to better examine the remaining supplies as the other careers began to filter back to them. Porcelain returned first. She was holding a knife that was stained red with someone's blood.

"The girl from Seven," she said when she caught Cree staring.

Rubin and Vlad showed up next, each of their weapons dry. Neither of them looked too please with the result of their chases; although, Rubin was quicker to get over it. Vlad kept sending Cree dirty looks.

They waited in silence for Alexis, their final member to return, hoping that she came bearing news of more deaths. Their current kill count was four- a shameful number for a bloodbath, especially after last year when thirteen died in the first fifteen minutes.

"What's taking her so long?" Rubin asked nervously as more time passed. All of them were worrying about the worst at this point.

"She was running an errand for me," Airin mumbled.

Suddenly the sound of somebody crying out echoed through the throne room. "Please, really we can talk about this," someone was saying.

Alexis appeared through the big double doors, her brow smeared with blood and sweat. In front of her Damien stumbled forwards in a much worse state. The boy's jaw and left eye were turning a blueish bruised color, and his tunic had several shallow cuts in it. His lip was split too, and blood dripped down his chin from the cut, onto his shirt. He too was sweating profusely, and two unattractive stains were betraying him underneath his pits.

"Caught your liar," Alexis smirked. "I almost did the job myself, you know. The liar fought dirty. I thought it was more appropriate if you finished him yourself though."

"Yeah okay," Airin nodded. "Hey Rocio can you get me my machete? They must have put one here somewhere."

Rocio obliged despite the fact that her heart protested. This was a cruel way to end someone's life, executing him like this, even if she knew that he probably deserved it. When she handed the weapon to her District partner, Damien tried to make a break for it. Vlad stepped in his way though, landing a hard punch in the boy's stomach. The blind facade had completely fallen now. His real self was completely exposed.

"Ready?" Airin breathed, as much to himself as to Damien. With one strong thrust, Airin stabbed Damien through the heart with his machete. He could feel the other boy's body slump forwards.

The sound of a cannon interrupted the silence of the Cornucopia, and Airin knew that Damien was officially dead.

_Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom._

Four more cannons followed. Five deaths, and the bloodbath was officially over.

* * *

**The King and All of His Men by Wolf Gang**

* * *

**A/N: There goes the bloodbath and here come the obits:**

**RIP Whisper, Mae, Burnet, Rowan, and Damien**

**Whisper: I loved Whisper, his cold sarcasm was fun to write. He fell victim to the lack of plot line issue. I just wasn't sure what I was going to do with him, so here he is in the bloodbath.**

**Mae: I don't think it's a surprise that she's on this list. Although it wasn't because of her less than charming personality. She ticked a lot of people off and she was young and small for her age. It wasn't realistic for me to let her to far.**

**Burnet: It was hard for me to kill him off so early because I did have a story line for him and I loved his character. In the end though it came down to numbers. I wanted a smaller bloodbath because Rocio and Airin weren't going to have any kills (I know that Airin technically killed Damien but really it was Alexis who did the dirty work there), but I thought four wasn't quite enough because the throne room was clearly designed for a high number of kills. So Burnet fell victim of the number issue. It was his time.**

**Rowan: Honestly I had some problems writing her. Pinpointing her personality was hard for me because she was supposed to be really strong and almost bitingly sarcastic around her step mom but then a really kind sweet person around the rest of the world, but she wasnt two faced. wait was hard area translating that smoothly into her own character. Although I would consider that my fault not her creators.**

**Damien: Ah Damien. So he is dead also because of realism. His entire gameplan depended on the ability to get an alliance. Unfortunately I had plans for everyone else and so there wasn't anyone left for him (I considered pairing him with Whisper once of twice but it didn't fit Whispers character). So yeah, without an alliance, Damien was a goner.**

**Hope you guys liked this chapter (and that those whose submissions are now deceased will keep on reading and reviewing when they have time)**

**Until next time.**

**-Tales**


	25. The Rifle's Spiral

Rifle's Spiral

"Dead lungs command it, you pour your life down the riffle's spiral"

* * *

It was a long time before they stopped running. The unutterable grief of the bloodbath moved their legs for them as they ran from death, terrified that reality might eventually catch them in their sprint. Only when the castle was growing small in the distance, and they were surrounded by nothing but small village houses did they dare pause for a breather- they had learned their lesson the first time.

"We have to stop," Avanna panted as she allowed her body to collapse against the side of one of the small cottages. Her two companions halted without saying a word. Kan's face was twisted with anguish.

"We got out, Zea said quietly.

Kan lifted his head, looking like a kicked puppy. "Not whole we didn't," he muttered back. Avanna watched Zea's face soften and then harden again. She admired the girl for her strength. It was something Rowan had too- a certain grit underneath a kind surface.

Thinking back to that moment, when Porcelain's knife effortlessly sliced through Rowan's neck, Avanna couldn't help but feel weak. Unlike Kan, her instinct wasn't to valiantly rush forwards and save her friend, and unlike Zea she didn't think to run away and preserve those that were still left. No she had froze, her will oscillating between the two choices, completely and utterly useless.

And in the end all any of them could do was watch.

Without even realizing it, Avanna could feel a sob threatening to rise in her chest. She couldn't cry though. After all, despite his dry eyes now, she had a feeling Kan would be crying enough for the both of them later.

"Shelter," Zea said suddenly, when the silence became too much for any of them to bear. "We should find shelter. Maybe one of these huts would work."

"I guess we should check one of them out for supplies anyway," Kan mumbled. Avanna nodded in agreement. None of them had been paying much attention to the scenery as they had been running, but they knew where to find water if they needed it. The castle had been surrounded by a thick moat filled with murky brown water. The moat drained on one end into a long river that winded away, tracing the exterior of the village they were passing through.

Zea led them into a random house, carefully pushing open the door. Avanna followed, her eyes examining the new environment immediately. The little cottage was simple and cozy. The front door led into a large main room that had a fireplace on the far end. Surrounding the hearth was a humble seating area, consisting mostly of hard wooden chairs surrounding a hand-made tweed carpet. On the other side of the room was what looked like a kitchen, though it was missing the electronically appliances that Avanna was used to. Mostly it was just a series of counter tops and cabinets, made out of a thick soft wood. A sturdy table was situated over there as well as more wooden chairs.

Avanna's eyes found the entrance to a hallway in between the two rooms, and silently she moved forwards, curiosity taking over. There were three bedrooms in the hallway. The one on the end was the largest, though it was still smaller than Avanna's old room on top of the jewelry store. It had a large bed, made for two, with a straw matress and a heavy wool blanket in the center of it. On the far wall was a dresser. A decorative ceramic vase rested on top of it.

Avanna could just picture a family living in here, maybe one from District Seven because everything was made of wood. They would be of a humble background, too poor to afford anything fancy like electricity, but they would be happy. This house would be like their castle. The parents would live in the room she stood in now, and the two kids would be in the ones across the hall. The ceramic vase was probably a gift to wife, one simple indulgence that probably meant the world and more to her.

With a sad smile, Avanna walked over and ran her fingers over flowers painted on the side of the vase. It was the most beautiful thing she'd seen since she'd gotten reaped. If only Rowan were here to see it too.

"Avanna you okay?" Kan's voice called out suddenly. There was a slight edge of panic in his tone, one that worried her. Hopefully he'd be okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, poking her head out the door. "Just looking around... Are you okay?"

Kan gave her a tired smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah," he said with a deep sigh. "... I guess I just didn't expect to lose her this early. You know, she was my neighbor back at home. She lived just across the street."

"You've told me," Avanna said softly. She felt her heart squeeze. To think that they had only been in the arena for about an hour and a half, and yet things were already so messed up.

She could only imagine the sorry state they'd be in two weeks from now.

Outside, just a few streets over from the house that Kan, Zea, and Avanna were inside, Cutter's alliance walked through the street, Petro still clutching to the box he had risked his life for. Auden had made several small attempts to stir up a conversation, though admittedly, it wasn't something she was good at. They were all still shaken from the danger of the bloodbath.

"So you are you going to show us what you risked all our lives for or not?" Cutter finally said, as she pulled to a stop in the middle of the dirt road.

Petro gripped the wooden box tighter, feeling a wave of distrust wash over him. In the heat of battle, he had forgotten his suspicious about the two girls. Now that things had settled down though, the worries were nagging him again. He was just waiting for the knife to turn in his back. This alliance, it was too perfect. What was their ulterior motive? There had to be one. While he had this box though, he felt safe. It meant they still needed him.

"Well?" Cutter said, narrowing her eyes.

Knowing that he didn't have much else of a choice, he dropped the box onto the dirt road, and sat down beside it. "Let's find out," he said.

He turned it in his hand, searching for some sort of opening. He found it in the form of a medieval metal latch at one of the seams. Clicking it open, Petro lifted the lid. Immediately, Cutter's face broke into a deep frown. The container was filled to the brim with some sort of black grainy substance.

"So we almost died for a box of gun powder," Cutter clicked her tongue.

"At least it's something," Auden sighed in return.

Petro didn't say anything he just continued to stare at the box disappointed. Gun powder was one of the most useless weapons provided in the Games as they didn't get guns. Sometimes a particularly clever tribute would rig some kind of explosives with it, but the only person who might be smart enough for that was Auden. They both knew that even if she had the knowledge, she wouldn't use it. She was touchy on the topic of intelligence.

"Yeah, I guess so," Cutter sighed. "Just don't do anything like that again. You could've gotten us all killed."

"I won't," Petro muttered. And with a snap, he clicked the box shut, saving their weapon for later.

* * *

Crescent scurried through the field as she clutched her tunic close to her body. She had crossed the river twenty minutes earlier, and found herself in a large field filled with growing crops. Nobody would be starving in this arena. She didn't even have to be knowledgable with identifying plants. The crops were all recognizable foods, like corn, tomatoes, and lettuce. She'd taken the liberty of stuffing several vegetables into the pack she'd nabbed in the confusion of the bloodbath. Earlier she'd even seen a heard of cows grazing in a large pen.

Currently though, she had one mission, and one mission only- to get out of the sun. She needed to find some place to set up. Earlier she'd considered making residence in one of the houses in the village, but after a brief consultation with her friends, she'd decided that the houses wouldn't work. They were too close to everything. She wanted to be left alone, and if she felt like she was in a village, surrounded by other houses, she'd never get complete peace of mind.

With a determined sigh, Crescent began to walk faster. She wasn't entirely sure where she was headed- the forest maybe. She could see the trees starting to appear on the horizon. The trees would bring her the seclusion she wanted so desperately, though she'd still be exposed to the elements there. She couldn't expect perfection though. The game makers weren't going to cater to her needs.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, a grey pier caught her eye. She paused, examining the figure in the distance. It looked like a tower, tall and grey, made from the same rock that the castle had been constructed from. She changed her course, walking towards it. Perhaps it was meant to act as some kind of watch tower. She could see a lone window in the top of it. The hole peered away from the castle, towards the unknown.

It only took her a couple of minutes to make it to the tower's foot. Circling it, she discovered that on the far side, the crop fields ended, and grass began. A heavy wooden door was set in the grey stone. An iron circular handle bid her to enter. She took care to take out the slick dagger she had grabbed earlier before entering.

The moment she opened the door, a loud squealing noise filled her ears, and she slashed out with her dagger startled. Something flew into her shoulder, making her jump. The door swung closed as she backed against the wall, trying to make out this unknown threat in the dark.

Her shoulders tensed as her eyes adjusted. She was in a small circular room filled with dusty wooden crates. To her right, a staircase spiraled up into the ceiling, presumably leading to the window she had seen from the ground. Across the room though, hanging upside down on a low support beam, a dozen or so yellow beady eyes bored into her.

Then they attacked.

Swinging her dagger out, she collided the blade into one of their rodent-like bodies. It fell bloody to the ground, squealing helplessly. A sharp stinging feeling dug into her left bicep as one of them dug their talons into her. She stabbed at it, killing another one. It continued like this for another minute. She would feel one of them cut her forehead or her leg or her stomach, and then she'd attack. Before she knew it, their carcasses were surrounding her feet.

She sneered at them, kicking at their lifeless bodies. This tower was hers now, and they had to be eradicated. Kneeling down, she lifted one by a shriveled wing. _It's a bat,_ she heard one of her friends whisper in her ear. It pleased her to find that the voice was potent, as the darkness was so extreme.

Dropping the bat back onto the ground, she crossed the room and settled down onto one of the crates. She had finally found a place where she could find some peace.

* * *

Ghram was almost sure of it now. He was dreadfully lost. Trees were surrounding him on all sides, each one looking exactly like the one before it. He missed the open fields of District Nine. He missed the security of a companion. He missed having someone to lead him.

Everything seemed new to him. Without Burnet, he was alone for the first time. Even back in District Nine, he always had someone older looking out for him. Milo had his back for as long as he could remember. Ghram was so used to following orders. In fact, it was almost what defined him. He was a follower.

Now he didn't have anyone to follow, and of course the first thing he'd done was gotten lost.

Feeling hopeless, Ghram stopped walking and sunk down against one of the tree trunks. Walking in more circles was just pointless. For the millionth time that day, he tears pricking behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth. He couldn't cry. Crying was for babies, and he wouldn't let his friends see him like that.

"Now what Burnet?" he whispered below his breath.

In his mind's eye, he watched Vlad nearly decapitate his lone ally. Violence was nothing new to Ghram, but this was taking things to a new level. He'd never seen a dead body before today, not in real life at least. He swallowed the thought just as it surfaced, thinking back to earlier that day when he had lost his breakfast in one of the plant pots lining the walls in the castle. If he wasn't careful, he'd puke again.

Looking up at the tree in front of him, he gauged the height of the canopy, wondering if he could climb to the top and steal a look around. After a minute of deliberation, he decided it was worth a shot. Grabbing onto one of the knots in the side of the trunk, he lifted himself carefully up onto the first branch, and then pulled himself up even higher. His stomach was doing somersaults as he glanced at the ground below him. He'd never climbed a tree before- he was having a lot of firsts today.

Once he was nearing the top, his view of the arena cleared. He could see the massive castle in the distance. President Snow's stain-glass window was a small ant against the grey stone, but Ghram thought he could just make out the gleam of the sun against the colorful window. Taking a few steps higher, he could see the village. Apparently he wasn't as far away from the forest break as he had thought.

Climbing back down to the ground, he felt better than he had just moments ago, more in control. That didn't change his situation though. He was still completely and utterly alone, and even he was questioning how long he was going to be able to last this way.

Back in the village, another young boy was moving under the cloudless sky. Avell, however, was feeling extremely secure. He was sitting inside one of the village houses, staring out a window carefully. The house he had chosen was just a couple hundred yards from the moat and the castle. He had chosen it for that very reason. This way, he could monitor the careers.

in his mind, he was already trying to formulate a plan. He had to destroy the Cornucopia supplies, that was clear enough. Getting rid of the career's life line had always been the first step in his Victory plan. He had known from the day he had made the decision though that it would be easier said than done, especially since he didn't have any weapons. Chewing on his lip, he stared at the castle, feeling frustrated but excited at the same time.

Wondering idly, he thought of his other competition. Any one of the outer district tributes would probably help him in his endeavor to destroy the career's alliance. Especially the two older boys from Six and Eight. He wasn't quite sure why, but they seemed to be carrying an almost personal grudge against some of the careers. Others, like maybe the girl from Ten, he might be able to talk into some sort of temporary alliance on rapport established from an urge for revenge. The boy from One did kill her District partner after all. And there was always Auden. He knew his District partner was so desperate for friends that she might do anything if he asked nicely.

Of course, he didn't want an alliance. What he really wanted was advice. He knew that going it alone was bold, that it was going to be difficult. He felt hindered without someone to bounce ideas off of. At the same time, he knew he was better off this way. Allies were only helpful for so long, then they became burdens.

Standing up, he crept back over to the door of the small house. He had decided his next move. Hopefully, it wouldn't get him killed.

* * *

**The Rifle's Spiral by The Shins**

* * *

**A/N Sorry for the long update. I'm busy with life again. This was a short chapter with no deaths. I wanted to set a few things up, and introduce you guys to the arena more. Hopefully it wasn't too slow. There will be deaths in the next chapter.**

**ps QuietConspiracy just posted chapter one of her spin off story to Finding the Light where all the FtL characters go to Hogwarts. It's called One Long Year. Go check it out!**

**Until next time,**

**Tales**


	26. Garands

Garands

"Now tell me why this feels so wrong, feels so wrong to hold this gun"

* * *

Ranger walked beside the river with power in her step. In her right hand, her threatening sword rested at the ready. Her pack was secured tightly to her back, so it wouldn't wobble around if she needed to run. Her long white hair billowed elegantly behind her as she walked. She wanted a fight. Her expression screamed it. It was like her entire being issued a challenge to the rest of her competition- try and kill me, I dare you.

The trickle of the stream was the only sound in the air, other than the sound of her own footsteps though. She was alone for now, and no one would be jumping from the water to attack her.

As the sun peaked in the sky, telling her it was about noon, she finally decided to stop. Sitting down beside the stream, she began rummaging through her pack, looking for iodine to purify the stream water in her canister. Her plan was simple for the time being. From the moment she had escaped the huge castle, she had been following the winding river, not daring to stray too far from it's edge. This river was going to be her life line. With it near, she'd never go thirsty or get lost. More importantly though, she'd only seen the moat branch off in one direction. That meant that for the time being, it was the only water source that all of the tributes knew about. It was the perfect spot to stalk out a kill.

Glancing at the sky, she wondered if Hadyn was watching her now. Surely he would be proud. She was alive and strong. In fact, she was probably District Ten's best chance at winning in a long time, being that her home had taught her how to deal with turmoil. How ironic it was that all of their hopes now lied with her, now that Whisper was dead. They must be sick with themselves.

She hoped they were, her mother especially. She hoped they felt guilty.

Suddenly, she heard a gentle splashing sound coming from the water. Jumping to her feet, she slashed her sword forwards, ready to kill. Her heart rate had spiked, and she could hear the blood thumping in her ears. With malicious eyes she searched for the sound of the noise.

It was a fish.

She let out an aggravated sigh as she stabbed forwards, impaling the small creature with her sword. Stupid fish, it would be her dinner now. Nevertheless, she had to calm down. Paranoia would be her downfall.

Just a mile up the river, closer to the castle, Dice and Dust were walking. Both of them were completely soaked as dirty droplets ran down their cheeks. Dice looked annoyed as he walked with two packs slung around his shoulders. Dust on the other hand was wearing an easy smile. He too was wearing a backpack and tucked into his belt were two long serrated knives. In his hands he was holding a hollow metal tube and three long shuttle darts.

"Think we'll be able to make it to the forest by nightfall?" Dust asked eagerly as he eyed the darts. "I want to see if I can find something to coat my darts in."

"Maybe we'd have went out the normal way, we would have had more time," Dice grumbled.

Dust just laughed. "It was for the greater good. The last thing we needed was to be jumped by one of the other tributes by walking through the front door."

Dice rolled his eyes. During their great escape from the bloodbath, they'd gotten rather lost in the castle. When they finally found the stairs, Dice had wanted to get off on the fourth floor down. Dust disagreed though, dragging his ally all the way into the basement. They wound up in a dungeon, literally. Morbid cages had lined the walls, each with metal doors left ominously open. Chains could be found just about everywhere, some caked with dried blood. Then Dice had stepped on a skeleton's hand. Naturally he hadn't been happy.

Dust was always on top of things though. It only took him fifteen minutes to find a loose brick in the wall near the ceiling. Dice remembered him muttering about air ventilation. They had picked away from the wall until they were able to climb up onto ground level. The spot they came up at was rather inconvenient though, as they had to swim across the moat to get to the rest of the arena.

So now Dice was tired, jittery, and wet. It was just swell.

"Would've been a shame to run into a tribute, yeah. There would have been one less competitor and we'd be dry," Dice said with a sarcastic smirk. Dust winked, aware that he had won the argument, as Dice had stopped brooding somewhat.

Then suddenly, Dust swung his arm out, stopping his ally in his tracks. "Get down," he commanded urgently, reaching for a knife in his belt. Both boys hit the ground hard. Looking ahead, Dice squinted trying to see what Dust had detected. That was when he saw it- the figure walking towards the river from the town.

"He's going to see us," Dice said.

"Shhhh," Dust hissed in response.

Dice squinted into the distance, trying to make out the unknown threat. A figure was approaching the river- and them- in the distance. As they got closer, Dice could make out their face. It was the boy from Three, the one who got a nine during training. Glancing over, he tried to gauge Dust's reaction. His friend was smirking, as usual, but Dice couldn't tell whether it was a genuine smirk or whether he was playing up his confidence for the cameras. Dice rather hoped it was the later. It would be much better for him if his only ally in the Games wasn't sadistic.

"When he get's close enough, we jump him," Dust whispered.

Dice didn't respond, but then again, he didn't need to. Just before the boy got in range, he stopped. "I know you're both there," he announced loudly.

Dice followed Dust's lead, waiting for the other boy to stand before rising to his feet himself. "Clever kid," Dust said. "What gave us away?"

"I watched you hit the ground," the boy smiled. "Trust me, I knew you were there long before you saw me."

"Well then, you planning on killing us?" Dust asked, one of his knives shimmering dangerously in the sunlight.

"I'm not stupid," came the response, the smile falling from his face. "I just wanted to ask you a question."

"And why should we hear you out?" Dice growled. He didn't like this situation. In his experience, things turned sour when he didn't hold all of the cards. With his eyes he tried to send the message to Dust- they should get out of there now. Unfortunately, Dust was too absorbed in the conversation to even bother making eye contact.

"Because I'm going to use your information to go kill off the career pack, and I know you need that to happen just as much as I do," the boy shrugged.

Dice had the sudden urge to laugh. If this kid thought he was going to kill six trained murderers and their add on from District Eleven, then he was truly crazy. He just admitted that he didn't stand a chance in a fight against Dust and Dice. Well, he must know that the two of them were weaker than the career pack. Things wouldn't be that simple. Something stopped him from voicing his thoughts though. The kid got a nine in training. They didn't hand those out to idiots.

"Okay, we're listening," Dust said.

"I need to know how you got out of the castle. I've been watching the front entrance for hours, and never saw you leave it. Now they've got someone on watch, making sure nobody can enter through that door. Did you find another exit that they don't know about?" the boy asked.

"How do you know we didn't just get out before you?" Dust asked.

Avell faltered. For a brief instant, he seemed to be at a complete loss for words, completely and utterly disappointed. He recovered quickly though, a spark of hope reigniting in his eyes. "Because you're both soaking wet. There's a bridge by the main entrance.

"We just decided to go for a swim. I don't know what you're talking about," Dice said harshly.

"Relax man," Dust said with a smirk. "We made our own exit. As far as I know the careers don't have any idea it exists."

"Tell me about it," Avell insisted excitedly. Dust did, telling Avell about everything from the bloodbath to their escape across the moat. Avell soaked up everything, of course. Dice wasn't happy about it either. He didn't know why, but he had a gut feeling that this kid shouldn't be trusted. They should be holding onto every bit of information that they had. Even if Avell claimed that he had a fail-proof plan, Dice doubted that it was as good as he made it out to be. He didn't even want to know what the boy had in mind. Of course, Dust did, and he asked about it.

"If you win, you'll see it during the recaps," Avell said. "In the mean time, you wouldn't have happened to have seen my district partner have you? I have question for her too."

"Nope sorry," Dust shook his head.

"Well if you see her, please don't kill her. I won't be able to do anything without her help," Avell said lightly. "See you two around."

Dice watched the boy walk away, unharmed, with a sour taste in his mouth. "You shouldn't have told him so much," Dice said.

"Ah, he's not going to kill us with that information. Relax, if worst comes to worst the careers will kill him. If things work out than he will have removed some of our biggest threats. It's a win win situation here. Or if we get really lucky then they'll just kill each other off, and we'll all be better off," Dust shrugged.

"That's morbid," Dice deadpanned.

"Yeah well if either of us are going to win, then we have to be a little morbid," Dust's face darkened.

"Guess so," Dice muttered. "You better hope that kid wasn't just lying through his teeth to get out of an honorable fight with us. If you're wrong we're both screwed."

"You need to relax a bit," Dust laughed. "We're going to be just fine."

* * *

"Hurry up," Vlad complained for the seventh time in the past fifteen minutes.

Rocio frowned. "I'm coming relax," she said.

Vlad's eyes flickered back at the girl from Four. He didn't voice it, but they all thought she was going turtle pace on purpose. Cree had seen her let the boy from Five get away unharmed during the bloodbath, and had communicated the gossip when Rocio was off helping Airin with something. It was perhaps the one thing that both One and Two could agree on- Rocio was soft.

"Could've fooled me," Vlad mumbled, too low for the girl to hear.

"Hey, she said she was coming," Airin said defensively. Vlad mentally cursed Airin and his bat ears. He swore- his alliance was going to drive him crazy before this thing was over.

"You hear anything useful with those ears, Eagle-boy, like maybe a tribute," Alexis jumped in. She was referring to the huge eagle tattoo on Airin's back. They hadn't seen it in training, but earlier he had taken his shirt off to put on some chain mail armor on underneath and they'd all got a glimpse of it. Alexis hadn't stopped teasing the Airin about it since.

"Oh stop it. That is not going to make the bickering any better dear," Porcelain said absently. Something about her tone though made Vlad think that she didn't really care if they stopped fighting or not. Beside her, Cree was nodding enthusiastic in agreement. The girl was like Porcelain's shadow, especially now with Rubin back guarding the Cornucopia. It was like Cree didn't feel comfortable talking to the rest of them.

They rounded another corner, passing more houses. They had been out hunting for quite some time now, probably an hour or so, and the only thing they'd achieved was some petty arguing. The arena really lent itself to hiding. There were so many houses surrounding the giant castle that it was impractical to search each one individually. They must have poked their heads in thirty or so before they decided to settle on just walking through the street- Vlad was still unhappy with that decision. It was of course, also possible that none of the tributes were in the village. Every single one of them might be either out by the farm fields, or in the forest. If that was the case, then they were wasting their time making rounds in the little town.

"I can't hear anything over the sound of your voices," Airin replied to Alexis honestly.

"Great," she said back. "Maybe we should, you know, look outside of the village. We might have better luck there."

"I don't know hun. That's pretty far away from the castle," Porcelain said, the distaste thick in her voice. "It's almost lunch time anyway."

"Wouldn't want princess here to miss her lunch," Alexis rolled her eyes.

"Rubin will probably be getting worried," Cree said, jumping to Porcelain's defense.

"Well then he's stupid. Obviously if there hasn't been any canons then we're all fine. We're going to go hunting by the woods, and that's final," Vlad declared in his deep throaty growl. Porcelain crossed her arms and glared at him, but didn't argue anymore, so naturally neither did Cree. And of course, District Four never really had a say in this argument anyway.

They continued walking in silence. The clanking of their metal weapons filled their ears. A layer of ice seemed to cover them, as animosity flowed freely through the air. Rocio tried to remember the tapes she had been forced to watch of previous Games. She knew what was coming. There were always years like this- when the career pack was constantly walking on a thin wire with everyone waiting for it to snap. Usually, it didn't turn out well for those involved. In many ways, it was probably best that her and Airin were more or less being exiled. Hopefully they wouldn't be targeted later.

Up ahead, the forest was getting closer. They had already been close to the outskirts of the town, and luckily the woods weren't that far away to begin with. Everyone but Rocio was hoping that their luck was about to change. And as the trees began to engulf them, it did.

The punch came out of nowhere, nailing Vlad, who had taken point, in the nose. Everyone could hear the crack of bone breaking as the massive career boy stumbled backwards, into the trunk of one of the trees. The others froze in shock as Ghram ran right passed them all. towards the village.

The boy from Nine could feel panic rising in his chest as the weight of what he just did settled on his shoulders. He should have stayed hidden, and prayed they didn't notice them. Now he had made the beast mad. It was only a matter of moments before...

A knife whizzed past his ear, landing into the soft grass ahead of him. He gave out a small squeal, swerving to his left, and missing yet another knife. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the girls from One and Two as well as the boy from Four chasing him. The girl from One had the knives, but he felt just as threatened by the other two who were holding an axe and a machete respectively. What had he just gotten himself into?

Returning his gaze to the space in front of him, he continued to run, trying to think of what Milo or Burnet might do. His mind wasn't clear though. He wasn't good at independent thinking.

He was going to die.

A searing pain radiated through his calf as he fell forwards into the grass. His cheek, palms, and knees scraped against the dirt, drawing blood. In a haze of adrenaline, he spun onto his back, pulling the weapon from his body and brandishing it forwards, warning his attackers from getting closer. Obviously he wasn't very convincing.

"He's fighting back, how cute," Porcelain smiled. He felt his tongue go dry. Something about the girl was unnerving.

"Well, you going to finish him?" Alexis asked. "I mean, he's yours if you want him. Your knife took him down."

"I would dear, but it would appear that I'm all out of knives. You'll have to do the dirty work for me," Porcelain said. Alexis gave her an incredulous look, as there were still four throwing knives tucked visibly in her belt. There was no point in arguing though.

"You want me to do it?" Airin asked tentatively. His voice was off though. Secretly, he didn't want to kill Ghram. The kid hadn't done anything to offend him, like Damien had; he probably didn't deserve this. For the first time, the full weight of the moral dilemma of the Games hit him. He didn't want to needlessly slaughter anyone.

"No," Alexis said, taking a deep breath. "You've been handed enough for one day."

He ignored her insult as she slunk forward, lifting her weapon. On the ground, Ghram scooted back weakly, leaving a trail of blood from his calf on the grass. "Get back," he said. "I'll kill you."

Alexis just shook her head, and swung her axe forwards. It's weight pushed right through Ghram's feeble defense, and plunged itself into his chest. A few seconds later, the cannon boomed.

"Well, good thing we got that out-of-the-way," Porcelain smiled.

Alexis glared at the other girl. "Oh yeah, it's great," she snapped. She paused only to yank her axe out of Ghram's dead body before storming away to go check up on her useless District partner.

* * *

**Garands by Young the Giant**

* * *

**A/N RIP Ghram. I loved him, as I loved Burnet. I think I've said this before but just as Burnet suffered from a lack of storyline, so did Ghram. Also, if we think realistically, this kid wasn't going to last very long on his own. His entire life he's been following orders from his gang. And he needed someone to sort of focus him. Without Burnet, he was going to do something rash eventually. And of course, that something (punching Vlad) led to his demise. Thanks so much Saltey for submitting him. **

**So, I forgot to tell you guys this earlier, but remember how I asked everyone to submit original characters? Like I didn't want them in other SYOT's? Feel free to start submitting them elsewhere once their dead. My big thing is that I don't want to write about someone who I've read or am reading about currently. Once their dead though, I won't be writing about them. So yeah, just wanted to let you guys know. **

**Finally, about an hour after I posted the previous chapter, QuietConspiracy posted her spin off about Finding the Light characters going to Hogwarts. I edited in a notice about her posting it once I found out, but if you read it right after I updated, you might have missed the memo. So if you want to go read more about some of these characters (in an environment where they are highly unlikely to be brutally murdered) then go check it out. It's called One Long Year. The first chapter is from Avell's perspective. **

**Alright, I think that's all my announcements for the day, **

**Until next time,**

**-Tales**


	27. Something to Die For

Something to Die For

"I'm fighting private wars again, just second thoughts of where and when."

* * *

The sun was lowering in the sky, closing the gap between itself in the horizon rapidly. Rubin watched it from the throne room with weary eyes. He had been sitting in the room doing nothing all day now on watch duty, and the boredom was starting to overtake him. Outside of the window, the arena stretched before him, an unexplored mystery.

He knew better than to think selfishly though. Deciding watch duty had been a tense moment. Volunteering for the job kept the bickering to a minimum. Rubin laughed bitterly. Ever since his grandfather showed him the tape of his Games, Rubin had been fantasizing about leading the career pack and winning the Games. He wanted the glory, the fame, and more recently, the money. And he wanted to do it his grandfather's way. He never anticipated this sort of resistance with his allies. What did they call it? Comedic irony?

Foot steps sounded down the hall, echoing through the throne room as the sound of quiet chatter circulated around the room. He hopped to his feet, ready to have some poor company after a day alone with the weapons.

"Hey, how'd things go," he asked before they even were in the room.

He caught Porcelain's face first. A familiar smirk played across it, as she walked in. She looked unharmed, which was always a good sign. "Things were perfect dear," she cooed. "The boy from District Nine's dead."

"You kill him?" Rubin asked, eyebrows going up.

"No, I killed him," Alexis interjected quickly. She sounded annoyed. "Porcelain didn't want to get her hands dirty." Rubin's District partner rolled her eyes, as if Alexis was nothing more than a silly child.

Rubin looked over at the rest of his alliance, quickly settling his eyes on Vlad. He was holding a bloodied cloth on top of his nose, and his expression was hard. He didn't look pissed per se, but he definitely wasn't happy. "Nine got in one good punch before we got him," Cree explained for Vlad.

"I'm fine," the hulking boy said. Rocio's jaw clenched as she shot Vlad a wary look. Rubin frowned. For a pack that had just made a successful kill, they certainly were carrying themselves like they had been defeated.

"It could be worse," Airin smiled. "They could've killed each other instead of the kid from Nine." Rubin smiled back, at least Airin didn't mind bringing up the one subject that everyone else seemed to avoiding. It lightened the room a bit, at least in Rubin's opinion.

"Hey, if they're going to start with that, then I'd rather it be when I'm not around," he said. Airin's smile got wider. This was the first time anyone in the pack other than Rocio had spoken to him like a real person.

"Ditto," he said.

"Great, we're all best friends. Now can someone please go get me the medical kit," Vlad said.

Alexis rolled her eyes. "Oh just give me a minute," she said, before disappearing into the stack of supplies in the center of the room.

* * *

Cutter squinted into the sun, trying to make out what was on the horizon. It would be night time soon, and they would be alone and exposed in the middle of the crop fields. It was stupid for them to take risks like that in an arena so full of hiding places. They never should have left the village; they definitely would've been safe there.

"Oh... well, I think they sound fun." Auden said, speaking to Petro.

"They weren't terrible," the boy quickly assured her as he drummed his fingers against the box of gunpowder. "It's just, um, I guess I didn't like going out and stuff."

"Dances would be the best part of school. I mean, if I had some people to go with maybe," Auden replied quietly.

Petro shrugged, his eyes distant. Cutter was happy they were talking, even if they were disagreeing. During training, their little alliance of three had been rather awkward. The more Auden tried to talk, the more Petro would withdraw into himself. Since the bloodbath though, a shift had occurred. Cutter was happy that her allies were talking more, getting along better. It meant that their group would run more smoothly.

"There," Cutter suddenly interrupted them both as she pointed ahead excitedly. Sitting high in the distance, a tall tower protruded into the sky. "That can be our shelter for the night."

Petro nodded. "Looks good enough to me," he said.

"A watch tower," Auden mumbled. "They're really keeping to the theme."

"Theme?" Cutter inquired glancing over at the girl.

Auden's cheeks colored bright pink, but she recognized that she had to answer the question now. "Yeah, um, it was part of that history section. Back before the dark days they had something they called a medieval era. They had rulers that they called kings and queens that lived in big castles, and peasants that lived in the small villages around them. Watchtowers also were pretty common on the outskirts of towns because they were constantly worrying about being attacked."

"Anything else about this medieval era that you think is important?" Cutter asked, trying to dig for more. She knew that Auden liked hiding things she was knowledgable about, though she wasn't exactly sure why.

"No," Auden said quickly, looking at her feet. Cutter didn't pester the girl for more though. IF they needed the information later, Auden wouldn't withhold it from them.

* * *

Crescent peered out the window of her tower at the approaching tributes before sinking backwards into her shadows. Maybe they would just pass by and leave her alone. Just because they were walking directly towards her didn't mean that they were coming to interrupt her peace. Perhaps their destination just lay beyond her new domain.

She clutched the knife closer to her chest as she desperately hoped they wouldn't walk through the door downstairs. _It'll be okay,_ the whisper came to her. _We'll fight with you. You'll win, if they come. _

The girl quickly made her way down the winding stairwell to the ground level. Knowing that the group was still five minutes away, she took her time to scour the room, looking for something to try and ward them off. "You're right," she said to one of the walls. "They'll do perfectly."

Hurriedly, she walked over to one of the wooden crates that was settled against the close end of the room. Earlier, she'd gone through all of the boxes, finding most of them were just filled with loose straw. They were valuable to her without any supplies though. She used the one she was currently prying open to hide the bat corpses she'd mangled earlier that day. The plan had been to dispose of them outside after the sun had set, but they were of use to her now. With one strong heave, she spilled their little bodies onto the floor directly in front of the door, spreading them out so that they covered the entire path to the stairs.

Now content with her work, she quickly made her way over to a large pile of empty crates and shrunk against them- her shadows would hide her.

Minutes passed before she could hear them again. _They're coming, _they told her. Her heart fell as the door began to creak open. The disappointment was quickly replaced by angry conviction though. She wanted to be left alone. That was all. She would settle for nothing less.

"It's kind of dark," a boy's voice said as the intruders came into full view. Crescent pressed her back further against the crates as she analyzed them. One boy, two girls; Districts Three, Five, and Twelve. The boy was the closest to her, though he hadn't broken the threshold yet.

"We'll go to the upstairs window, there will be more light up there," the girl from Twelve said. "Go ahead in."

The boy stepped forwards, and Crescent could hear the sound of a bat bone breaking under his boot echo through the room. He yelped, leaping backwards and knocking into his allies.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay," the girl from Three squeaked.

"I stepped on something," the boy stuttered out. Crescent could see him shaking slightly as he recovered from the shock. Again she held her breath. Was that enough? Would they leave now?

"Let me see," Twelve sighed, moving passed Five and into the room. Like the boy, her foot landed on one of the bats, but unlike him, she didn't recoil from them. Instead she knelt down, an expression of disgust on her face, and picked up one of the bodies, examining with haste before dropping it again. "It's a bunch of mutts, but it looks like somebody killed them already."

"Cutter, I don't like this, maybe we should sleep outside instead," Three's shaky voice said.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Crescent felt her heart sing in victory.

"No, they're all dead, and it doesn't look like anyone else is in here. We're definitely safer out of sight, " she said decisively. The girl stepped into the room, with no intention of leaving. Crescent didn't hesitate. Leaping from her hiding spot, she stabbed the girl in the chest.

Cutter didn't even have time to react. By the time she realized what was happening, the knife was already protruding from her chest, draining her life's blood from her heart. Auden's scream filled her ears as her knees gave out. She was dead before she hit the floor.

_Boom._

Crescent knelt down and pulled the knife from the girl's body. Her heart was beating in her ears. She felt like she was surrounded by an entire auditorium's worth of chatter, and the noise was overwhelming her. She had to get rid of the other two. She needed to regain her silence.

Auden cried out again as she saw Crescent approaching with the bloodied knife. The girl from Six stabbed forwards, and simply by instinct and luck, Auden dodged. In the process though, she stumbled backwards, falling over Petro who had yet to get off the ground from his bat scare.

She hit the ground hard, feeling the wind expel quickly from her lungs. Pain racked her side, and in the back of her mind a small logical voice told her that most of it was psychological, that she had to calm down and face the threat calmly. She didn't want to hear the voice though. Rolling over onto her back, her eyes searched frantically for Crescent.

The girl came flying out of nowhere, landing on top of her, pressing the knife against her throat. Auden searched Crescent's eyes for a sign of hesitation or regret but she found none. The District Six female looked desperately deranged as she stared at Auden. In her heart, Auden accepted the facts: she was already dead.

Petro only registered Crescent leaving the tower to attack Auden slightly. His eyes never left Cutter's fallen body. He could feel his entire being shake. This was the second corpse he had seen in his life- the second one that belonged to someone that was supposed to care about him, someone that he was supposed to care about too. Somehow this death didn't hit him as hard. He had been expecting the feeling of loss this time: the wake of the previous death had made him a friend of sorrow and grief.

He could run. His body was unharmed, and he still had the gunpowder in his hands. He could run and pretend this never happened. He never wanted an alliance. There were so many reasons that it was a bad idea. But somehow he found one, and now he was suffering the consequences, the agony, the despair of eternal loneliness. He'd spent the entire day considering abandoning them because he didn't want this.

Auden's scream filled his ears and he reacted. Spinning around, he threw himself into Crescent's body, just before her blade sliced his ally's throat. Crescent snarled as she grappled with him. She was older than him, but only by a year. The girl didn't have the same advantage as she did with Auden. Petro swung his elbow forwards, connecting it with her jaw. The girl screeched, bringing the knife forwards, aiming for his chest. He blocked the attack with the back of his hand.

The blade skimmed his flesh, opening a shallow gash. His eyes fluttered slightly at the pain- it might as well have been a butterfly's sweet caress. A knife was no weapon to use against a life-long cutter. With his free hand, he grabbed Crescent's wrist and banged it against the ground. She let out a cry, dropping the weapon in the grass. Petro waisted no time grabbing it.

Crescent scratched desperately at his shoulder, trying to pull him away from it. He rolled away from her, and just as she moved to crawl after him, he stabbed her, sinking the knife into her stomach. Her body went rigid as her eyes widened, pain washing through her. Petro pulled the knife out, and stabbed her again, this time in the chest where she stabbed Cutter. It felt like it took longer for her to bleed out than Cutter did. He pinned her to the ground, his hands grasping the knife desperately, holding it in her.

He didn't realize he was shaking, or that he was crying. It just happened.

"Petro?" Auden's quaking voice called to him. "Petro are you okay? Petro she's... she's dead."

"She's dead," he repeated. Falling off of her.

Auden's arms were suddenly around him. He could feel her sobbing against his shoulder. "Thank you," she choked out. "Oh my God... Cutter... Oh my God."

Petro couldn't hear her though. The words were still echoing around his head, all too familiar to his ears.

_She's dead Petro. Let go of her. There's nothing you can do. It wasn't your fault._

_She's dead Petro. I'm sorry for your loss. It's not fair. Boys shouldn't lose their mothers... not like this_

_She's dead Petro. I don't know why she did what she did. We all have our choices in life. I guess she just didn't want to be with us anymore._

_She's dead Petro. She couldn't love you, not the way mothers should. I'm sorry, it's not your fault. But it is._

_She's dead Petro._

_She's dead. She's dead. She's dead. _

_And she's never coming back. _

* * *

The second cannon sounded in the sky just as the sun settled below the horizon, leaving the entire arena to the mercies of the night. Avanna and Kan shared a knowing look, neither choosing to speak as they sat on the floor of the meager kitchen. They both knew the other's thoughts. Eight dead before sunset on the first day. Kan didn't even dare wonder who's cannons the most recent two belonged to. He didn't want to know. He didn't know any of the other tributes personally, but he knew their names, their backgrounds, their faces. The Hunger Games always looked morbid on television, but the horrors were magnified ten fold once the nightmare became your own.

Suddenly, a knock sounded on the front door, two light raps followed by a third heavy one.

"We're here," Avanna answered.

Zea poked her head through the door, her face as grave as ever. In her hand, a chicken dangled limp from it's neck. "I found dinner," she said. Avanna yelped, leaping backwards.

"What did you do to it?" she asked, looking scared.

Zea smiled. "What you've never seen a dead chicken before?" she asked.

"Not like that," she said.

For the first time that day, Kan smiled, for real. "It's because you're parents are shop owners in Eight," he said softly. "That's what they look like before you buy them from the butchers."

"Oh... maybe if I live I'll go vegetarian," Avanna muttered quietly.

Zea let out a light laugh, and Avanna joined in. Kan was not quite emotionally ready for laughing yet, but he smiled along with them, looking tired.

"I'm going to get it ready," Zea said after a moment.

Just before she started pulling out the feathers though, the anthem began to rattle through their house. Wordlessly, Zea dropped the chicken and the three of them drifted like ghosts to the front door, perhaps only one of them ready to meet the recent dead.

When they reached the front step, Mae Themis's face was already in the sky. Kan looked at her, feeling empty. He remembered her being rather rude to almost everyone. But did she deserve to die?

Next came Crescent Lolium. He thought she had escaped the bloodbath. Maybe she was one of the more recent deaths. He swallowed, terrified of what was coming next.

Rowan, smiling sweetly in her training uniform peered down at him from the sky. She looked so peaceful up there, so lively. Her face was almost unrecognizable from the mangled corpse he had abandoned in the heat of the earlier escape. A soft tear ran down Kan's cheek. He had to let her go; he knew it. She was ones of the first of 23 deaths that would occur in this arena. He shouldn't allow himself to be so torn up over her when there were so many others who deserved an equal share of his grief. Of course how could he not favor her? She was his District partner, his friend.

Silently, he promised her he would try his best to win these Games. He would bring home the crown for the both of them and with his winnings he would do better. He would be a nicer mentor than Ash, more charitable than Blight. He would dedicate himself to helping the suffering, because she no longer could.

He had to stop crying, at least for now.

Ghram's face appeared in the sky next, Zea's District partner. He glanced over at her, ready to be a rock for her, but she wasn't crying. For a brief moment sadness flickered across her face, but then it was gone. The girl knew how to be strong.

Three more faces followed: Whisper and both from District Twelve. In his mind he went over each name, letting the faces resonate in his mind. Only sixteen more to go.

* * *

**Something to Die For by Carolina Liar**

* * *

**A/N RIP Crescent and Cutter.**

**Crescent: So when Crescent was submitted to me, I was given the option to make her a complete psychopath. I chose not too. This idea of a loner girl who just wanted to have her peace was much more tragic, I think, and it was something fresh to write. I** **loved writing her very much. I had to kill her early though because I feel like its where she fit in. She had found her isolated tower, and at this point she couldn't undergo much further development and maybe the only other option for her was to send a few more tributes to disturb her for her to kill. I didn't want to corrupt her anymore though because at that point she would have just turned into another Lindon. I wanted her to die protecting the one thing she cherished most- her isolation and her shadows. Thanks for submitting her Ace.**

**Cutter- So I swear I dont have anything against D12. In my last story the two 12 tributes were submitted as bloodbaths, this time the two dying on day one was a coincidence (if I ever do another one of these maybe I'll send a D12 tribute far just to prove it). The reason I killed Cutter now was because I was having some trouble writing her. I don't know exactly why, I liked the premise of her character, but I think I just couldn't quite grasp her right. Hey, maybe you'll do her better in her chapter of One Long Year, eh QuietConspiracy? Thanks for submitting her nevertheless.**

**Anywho, until next time**

**-Tales**


	28. Move Along

Move Along

"So when you've lost yourself completely, could be a night when your life ends"

* * *

After the excitement of the first day, the game makers allowed the tributes a day of relief. The first night, the tributes slept peacefully, or rather as peacefully as any tribute could. Then the second day arrived and went, filled with only some petty hunting and idle chatter. As the sun rose on the third day, Ranger awoke with an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

It was unusual for the beginning of the Games to be so slow.

Her bones creaked as Ranger pulled herself into the sleeping position and analyzed her surroundings. She was just inside the forest break, about a quarter mile from the river. The grassy earth had served as her bed for the night. There was an imprint where she lay, the grass matted down and tangled. Quickly, Ranger ran her hands over the area, trying her best to erase her presence.

Around her, the forest chirped with customary wood noises- an occasional bird chirping, a cicada humming somewhere in the trees, the pattern of her breathing. She didn't like the noise much. Back at home, there were no forests, just miles of dusty grazing fields. Things were quieter there.

With a distinct scowl on her face, Ranger yanked her bag onto her back, and picked up her sword. Today she would trek back towards the village, staying close to river of course. She was tired of waiting for the others to die off on their own. Maybe she'd go hunting in the town. Clearly the careers weren't being effective enough on their own.

"Hadyn,I'm coming as fast as I can," she whispered to herself.

Suddenly, a soft pinging noise reached her ear, and she swung around, sword at the ready. Then she relaxed. Floating down from the sky was a shiny silver parachute. Needless to say she was surprised. She supposed that someone in the Capitol must like her. After all, she knew nobody at home was emptying their pockets to save her life.

Cracking open the lid to the metal container, Ranger pulled out a cardboard shoe box that read _Sander's Stupendous Sneakers _on the top in metallic letters surrounding a circular crest. Inside the box was a pair of running shoes that again had the Sander's crest on them. She rolled her eyes, someone named Sander really wanted their shoes advertised on television.

Nevertheless, Ranger quickly pulled off the uncomfortable boots that the gamemakers had provided her with, and slipped on her gift. Of course, they were the perfect fit, mentally she added she size to the list of personal information the Capitol had recorded without informing her. Then again, she wouldn't complain too much about her lack of privacy. The new shoes were light as a feather, and felt wonderful on her feet. Not that the boots weren't functional, they just were clearly made to annoy tired tributes with their heavy soles and rough lining.

On the ground, Ranger noticed a note.

_You're boring, be ready- Madison_

Ranger smirked. "Always am," she said allowed. Pushing herself back onto her feet, she went on her way, leaving her now useless boots behind, sitting under a tree.

* * *

Avell eyed the stable carefully, looking for a sign of life. It was a tall brown structure that must have been built to house horses. For the arena's purpose, it was void of all animals. It was located on the crop field side of the arena, about a mile away from the river. Behind him the castle loomed, watching over everyone.

With a sigh, Avell frowned: the building seemed to be deserted. He still had to check though. If he wasn't thorough enough, and the careers found him before he could converse with Auden, everything would have been for nothing. Walking through the front of the stable, he peered over the tall fence of the first stall, finding nothing but a sheet of hay coating the floor. Moving down the aisle, he checked the next stall, and then the next. By the time he had made it to the final one, he already knew it was empty.

He sighed as he exited the building, wondering where two days had gone. It bothered him that nobody died the previous day. Surely the Capitolites were bored by now. If he were watching the Games at home, he knew he'd be bored and agitated with the lack of happenings. "You want some action don't you?" he asked the sky. "Then show me where to find her."

"Avell?" a voice called quietly.

"Auden!" a second voice followed in chastisement, quick and nervous.

Avell spun around, a grin on his face to see his District partner crouching down in a patch of long uncut grass. The boy from Five was grabbing her arm, looking panicked. Clearly he wanted to run.

"I've been looking all over for you," Avell waved with a friendly smile. There. He knew that would be enough to make Auden listen. Her face lit up, just as he expected.

"Petro it's okay, my District partner isn't going to hurt us," she said excitedly.

The boy, Petro, didn't move as he narrowed his eyes. He didn't run though, which was a good sign. With another encouraging word or two, Auden convinced him to stand up and approach Avell. Once the other boy was on his feet, Avell noted that he was clutching a wooden box against his side and thrumming his fingers against the wood. Was that some sort of weapon? Avell couldn't be sure, so he made a mental note to remain wary.

"How's the past two days been?" Avell asked absently.

Auden faltered slightly and sent a nervous glance over at Petro. "Cutter... she died," she said quietly, her voice cracking.

"I'm sorry," Avell said sympathetically. "But hey, at least you weren't allied with that Damien kid right? I told you he was bad news right? At least you all made it out of the bloodbath."

"Yeah, I guess so," Auden muttered sadly. Petro's eyebrows knitted behind her as a wave of grief washed over him too. The look quickly vanished though as Auden returned her attention to Avell. "Why have you been looking for me? You, um, you don't want to join our alliance do you?"

"Auden," Petro whined quietly, his eyes lighting up in alarm. He didn't want to have an alliance in the first place. Now that he found himself stuck in one, he most certainly didn't want it growing.

Avell waved off the gesture quickly though. "No, I just needed to talk with you about something. I've been doing fine on my own though, thanks for worrying," he said.

"Oh," Auden muttered, looking slightly disappointed.

"Right, well, I wanted to talk to you about bombs actually," Avell barged forwards.

"Bombs?" Auden repeated. "Why?"

"Because I need a bomb, and I know where to get one. The problem is that I don't have the supplies or the knowledge to rig it once I have it," Avell explained.

"And I do?" Auden said, too loudly. After a long silent pause, she added, "You're smarter than me."

"No I'm not," Avell smirked. "Come on Auden. I just need you to explain me the basics of combustion. We both know that you know them. No one is going to judge you just because you're a genius. In fact, I think people will appreciate it. Sponsors like smart tributes."

"B-but, I don't know anything," Auden floundered. "You don't get it. I'm... I'm not good at this."

Avell frowned, not entirely sure what she was talking about. He knew that he was loosing her though. "I'm trying to get rid of the careers you know. They've won ever Games for the past five years you know. Don't you think the rest of us deserve a chance? This is going to help all of us."

Auden couldn't find the words to respond. Avell was asking her to pass through a mental barrier that she had set for herself years ago. Ellysia's social advice echoed clear in her mind: _they'll think you're weird if you start talking like you're Beetee Xavior. _She didn't want Petro to think she was weird, but at the same time, she didn't want Avell to hate her. She'd finally made friends, and she couldn't risk loosing them.

Petro looked between the two District Three tributes. He didn't like that Avell was making Auden so flustered. It was making him mad actually. She wasn't this kid's pawn to be moved around on a board at his whim. If she didn't want to talk about comption or combustion or whatever they were talking about, she shouldn't have to. Then his eyes fell on his box.

"What if we gave you a bomb that you didn't need Auden for," Petro asked carefully. "Would you leave us alone?"

Auden went white. "Not that we want you to leave. We'd like it if you stayed," she said quickly. Petro looked at her. Why was she trying so hard? He obviously had his own agenda.

"What kind of bomb?" Avell asked, his eyebrows going up.

Petro opened his box. "Gunpowder," he replied.

"That would be much better than what I had planned actually," Avell grinned. "Of course, if you don't want to give me your only method of defense, I would understand. "

"Oh we don't mi-" Auden started.

"We'll give you half," Petro said.

Avell chastised himself silently for speaking. It would've worked better if he had all of it. It was too late to turn back now though. "You have yourself a deal," he said.

Petro nodded. "You have something to hold it in?" he asked. Avell thought for a moment and nodded, disappearing into the stable quickly. Petro was half-tempted to pull Auden along and make a break for the woods while Avell was in the building, but he didn't make the attempt. He'd never convince Auden.

When Avell reappeared, he was carrying a burlap sack. It had been sitting against the wall filled with hay when Avell passed through the stable. After emptying of its previous contents, it would work perfect as a container for the gunpowder. "This will work," he said as he held the sack out for the powder. Petro quickly made the transaction, using his hand as a shovel to transfer the merchandise. It didn't even bother him that some of it was spilling onto the ground. He just wanted to get rid of the boy from Three.

"Thanks," Avell chirped, as he tied a string around the opening of the sack and tucked it into his tunic pocket. "You two take care."

"You too," Auden responded.

Avell paused, looking at Auden quickly. He had assumed that he would never see her again after she had escaped the bloodbath. After all, that was the nature of the Games. "I hope you're treating Auden well," he said to Petro. "If you're not, well, then I know who my next target will be after I take down the careers."

Auden's cheeks turned bright red as she stammered out some sort of defense for Petro. He didn't seem phased by Avell's words though. In fact, he hadn't reacted to them at all. He didn't speak again until Avell had disappeared over a hill, headed back towards the village.

"Do you mind me asking something?" he said to Auden.

"No, not at all," she said.

"Why try so hard for him? We're in the Hunger Games. He can't really be your friend. He's not even an ally."

"Because, um, well... He's a good guy, I mean... Well, people weren't always that nice to me back at home. I didn't have that many friends... Avell's been nice," Auden said awkwardly.

Petro's eyes darkened. "Ah, well. I wouldn't expect to much from him, or anyone. Trust me, it's not worth putting out that sort of effort to make someone like you. People will just disappoint you," he said.

Auden wasn't sure how to respond. Petro wasn't usually this dark. "Oh well, not Avell," she hastened. "He's trying to make things easier for the rest of us, you know. Getting rid of the careers and all."

Petro looked at her sadly, knowing that she wouldn't understand. Nobody ever would. "Come on, we're running low on food. We should go run by the fields and get some more."

He started walking towards the outskirt farms, and after a brief pause, Auden followed.

* * *

"We need to be quick," Zea said for the eighth time, as the three trotted down the road. In their hands, they each carried a make-shift weapon. Zea had a spear she had fashioned from a bedpost, some string, and a sharp rock. Avanna had a knife that they'd found in one of the village houses, and Kan had a long heavy metal bar that used to be part of a fire-place. Over his shoulder, Kan carried a large empty pot.

"We were fine yesterday," Avanna reassured her optimistically.

"That was different, there were recent deaths last time we went," Zea muttered.

"We'll be fast," Kan said.

Up ahead, the river was in view. Luckily, nobody was there. It appeared that they weren't going to have any trouble on their errand. Good. Hopefully they'd be able to get back to their house fast. Then Zea would be able to calm down. The clear view didn't make Zea feel any better though. She knew that there were plenty of hiding spots along the river side. The houses, the untrimmed grass on the other side of the water, even the river itself were all sources of potential dangers.

As they reached the edge of the town, Zea halted. "Kan give me the pot," she said.

He obeyed, looking confused. "You two stay here."

"Wait, we should come," Kan said. "You're not going to be able to carry that all by yourself."

"I'll manage. It's safer this way," she shook her head.

Kan didn't argue anymore, and of course, neither did Avanna. The longer the three spent together, the more and more Avanna stopped questioning Zea. It was good that way. They all saw that Zea was much better versed in the art of Common Sense. They wouldn't have made it passed the first day without her.

Zea broke from her alliance in a sprint, making it to the water in seconds. She took her time once there though. The pot was large and took a few seconds to fill up. Once full, it was heavy and cumbersome. She didn't want to rush herself and spill any though. The less water they managed to get back to the house, the sooner they would have to return.

On the other side of the river, Vlad and Porcelain were walking back from a morning of unsuccessful hunting, both looking unhappy. Vlad was getting impatient. After Finnick won in a week last year, he thought things would go much faster than they were. As for Porcelain, well, she was just upset that Vlad had disturbed her from her sleep that morning just to go walk around aimlessly for another couple of hours.

That was when he saw her. "There, by the river," Vlad said, pointing with his sword. Porcelain looked up.

"Oh yes, a lone tribute," she said, not sounding quite as excited as Vlad was. "Go fetch Vladimir, dear."

He only spared a moment to glare at Porcelain. She was really useless. Before wasting anymore time, he broke towards Zea, weapon raised. He was ready to let out some tension.

Zea heard him approaching before she saw him. All of her senses were on high alert, and she so when the sound of feet padding against the hard ground penetrated her conscience, she didn't hesitate. "The careers," Avanna yelped from the shadows of the town.

She dropped the pot onto the ground without a second thought, and began to run. Vlad was on her heals already though, his fit muscles flexing under his skin. Thinking quickly, Zea cut left, moving alongside the houses, away from Kan and Avanna. Vlad was clever though, and he kept running straight. A pit formed in her stomach. She knew where he was heading.

"Kan, Avanna run," she yelled as she turned in chase.

Avanna and Kan appeared in the street, both looking over their shoulder's with fear in their eyes. Kan turned his eyes to the road ahead and bounded forwards, slightly ahead, but Avanna was right behind him. She kept turning back to see Vlad's progress. Each time she fell further behind, and he got a few feet closer. It was only a matter of time before...

He dove, wrapping his arms around her feet. Avanna hit the ground hard, scraping her knees against the dirt. She squealed like a trapped rabbit as she kicked, trying to unlatch the career from her legs. Ahead Kan froze, looking between Avanna, the bar in his hands, and the road ahead. A look of resolve passed over his face. He would not leave another ally behind.

With a warrior cry, Kan stumbled forwards, bar raised, ready to smack Vlad in the head. He saw the boy from Seven coming though, and released Avanna quickly, rolling backwards to where he had dropped his sword. Kan's swing missed by a long shot, leaving him open to an attack. Vlad capitalized on the oportunity, slashing Kan's chest with his sword, cutting a shallow gash. He cursed himself for his clumsiness. Kan had stumbled backwards, missing most of the blow. Vlad should have overshot the attack in anticipation of the reaction. But he didnt- a beginner's error.

Avanna had scrambled to her feet at this point, and felt herself freeze as Kan brought his weapon forward again, crashing the metal bar against Vlad's sword. She wasn't sure whether to run or help. If she stepped into the fray would she even be able to aid Kan or would she just get in the way?

She felt like a coward.

Just as Kan struck forwards for a second time, he was shoved to the side. Zea came out of nowhere, throwing her entire body against the unsuspecting career's side. Then, as if she already knew his weakness, she brought her knee up, slamming it into his already broken nose.

He howled.

"Let's go," Zea cried, rushing forwards. Vlad reached out and grabbed her foot though, tripping her. Zea cried out in pain as her ankle twisted in his hand. There was no stopping now though. She struggled free, and returned to her feet. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her ankle, she sprinted forwards, disappearing around the corner with her two allies.

Vlad stayed on the ground, gripping his painful nose in his hand. Porcelain appeared beside him moments later. "Don't worry honey, you'll get them next time," she said. "I'm sure Alexis won't mind fixing your nose again."

"What the hell, that was one on three?" he cried, picking up his sword. "Where was my backup."

Porcelain smirked at him as he held his weapon threateningly. She didn't think he'd actually do it. "You're back up is sleeping in the castle, undisturbed. Now, I on the other hand, am here, awake and unhappy about it," she said.

He scowled, but there was nothing he could do. To attack was to break the alliance. And despite all of their problems, he needed them. If only because he still had his sense of duty, he needed the alliance to stay together for as long as possible

* * *

**Move Along by the All American Rejects**

* * *

**A/N No deaths in this chapter, but there was still some action in there for you. It was more about plot development. Hope everyone's having a great weekend :)**

**Until next time,**

**-Tales**


	29. Castle of Glass

Castle of Glass

"'Cause I'm only crack in this castle of glass, hardly anything else I need to be."

* * *

Cree stretched her limbs, hearing her bones creak in protest as she awoke. She wasn't used to sleeping in a sleeping bag on a hard stone floor. Then again, none of them were, so she couldn't complain. Gazing around, she found that the others were all awake. Porcelain's sleeping bag was deserted to her right, and Rubin was walking around, tending to the fire they started in the middle of the floor the previous day- the stone floors and high ceilings were just conducive enough to allow them to construct one safely. Alexis was sitting against the far wall, running her fingers along the edge of her axe and watching the rest of them. Vlad, like Porcelain, was also missing; and finally District Four was chatting away as they ate their breakfast.

Cree sighed, nobody had bothered to wake her up, and in a way that bothered her. She wanted her allies to need her, to want to hang out with her. Back when she lived in District One, she remembered having to dismiss some of her peers who weren't cool enough to be her friend. Now the situation was reversed though. The skill and origin of the all the others put them on a level of status above her, and so nobody valued her company enough to request her to join them in the morning. Then again, she supposed that she shouldn't have ever expected anything more from them. Her memories of District One were from a simpler time, when they weren't all competing for their lives.

"Where's did Porcelain go?" Cree asked, walking over to go talk to Rubin.

He shrugged. "She went off with Vlad. I think they're hunting," he said, a flash of annoyance in his eyes. He was probably just upset that Vlad was commanding his District partner around now too. The two hadn't relented in their power struggle since training.

"Well, there weren't any cannons were there?" Cree asked, already knowing the answer. He shook his head in confirmation.

Cree started about her morning routine, rolling up her sleeping bag and munching on a packaged biscuit for breakfast. About a half an hour later, the sound of footsteps echoed through the room. She glanced upwards, seeing Vlad enter through the door, his nose bloodied again. Over on the side, Alexis let out a laugh. "Really? Again?" she called over.

"It was the girl from Nine," he said unhappily. "I fought with her, District Seven and the girl from Eight all by myself. Maybe it wouldn't be so damaged if I had some help."

"Wait, isn't Porcelain with you?" Cree asked skeptically.

"I've never met such a useless excuse for a-" he began to boil.

"Now sugar, be nice," Porcelain appeared behind him, sauntering into the room. "We've already had this discussion. I do not chase, not at nine o' clock in the morning."

Rubin let out a laugh, looking all to happy about Vlad's failure. Cree frowned. This was why they were all failing so badly. Nobody in this alliance seemed to understand what was important at the moment. They were all too concerned with the District power struggle. Everyone except her of course. Sighing, she reminded herself of her home in District Eleven. At least they weren't dirty mongrels like those she knew from back there.

"You want me to fix it again or have you got it this time?" Alexis smirked hopping to her feet.

"I'm fine thanks," Vlad shook his head. "When I win, the Capitol can fix my nose. For now, I'll just deal with what it is. Just toss me the disinfectant."

Rubin glanced over at Porcelain, trying to get a read on her. Cree knew he was failing to get anything. Nobody really knew where that girl's head was at. It was one of the reasons Cree liked to be around her so much. The closer she was with the wild card in the alliance, the more leverage she had.

"Well now that you're all back, I think we should go out again," Rubin announced. "I think we're better off all going in a group. You're nose is actually exactly why we can't go wandering off in small groups. You're giving them too much of a chance. You can stay back and be on guard if you want to rest Vlad. It looks like this morning might have been a bit tiring for you. "

"No, I'm fine," Vlad said quickly, not wanting to be left behind on a hunting mission just because of his nose.

Alexis rolled her eyes. "I'll stay back then." The group nodded, everyone looking relieved that the topic of guard duty had passed without incident.

"I'll go get District Four," Rubin said, leaving for a moment to go talk to Rocio and Airin. The two of them where both used to things being decided for them at this point, and so they joined the group just ready to follow along.

Alexis walked down to the front exit with the rest of her alliance, pulling Vlad to the back of the group to talk with him quickly before they left. "If Porcelain can't pull her own weight again today, you tell me. I told you what she did yesterday with that kid right? I mean don't get me wrong, I'm glad I got the kill, but the tone she used with me... She thinks she on a whole different level than us. I don't know how much longer I can deal with District One," she said quietly.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Vlad asked, raising a dark eyebrow, his face unreadable.

"I'm going to fix the problem, what else?" she said.

"We can't break the alliance yet. We haven't even killed half the competition," Vlad whispered.

"I said I was going to fix the problem, not break the alliance," Alexis scoffed. "Just let me know if she abandons you again. She did the same to me yesterday when we were chasing that Ghram kid. I'd rather get rid of her before she gets one of us killed." Vlad nodded wordlessly, not sure whether to believe her or not. His thoughts travelled back to the Capitol, when she had requested to be coached alone. How badly did she really want this alliance to last?

"Have fun on the hunt," Alexis smiled as they reached the door. Vlad nodded and ran to catch up with the others who were already crossing the bridge. Alexis slumped against the door frame, sitting down. She would be standing guard at the doorway today, not in the throne room. She figured this way she'd be more likely to spot another tribute, and increase her kill count.

* * *

In the town, Zea, Kan, and Avanna had returned to their house. Zea was sitting on the floor, looking wearily at her ankle while Kan wrapped it in pieces of torn bedding. He said that it was sprained. Obviously she wasn't happy. She could barely walk on the stupid thing, let alone fight. Across the room, Avanna was sitting with her feet drawn to her chest. She had a few cuts from her fall, but nothing too major. She had gotten lucky, and she knew it. It pained her to see the lengths Zea had gone through to protect her and Kan. She appreciated the gesture, sure. She just wished that she didn't need to be protected. Back at home, she had never felt like such a burden, it bothered her.

Kan had only instructed her to put some pressure on her injuries if they were bleeding. Other than that, she had to keep them clean. They shouldn't get infected, as they were so minor. His lack of worry only reassured her that she hadn't done enough. Maybe if she had fought harder, Zea wouldn't have twisted her ankle in the first place.

"Well, that wasn't so terrible," Kan sighed, as he propped Zea's foot up on top of a few logs. "Nobody died."

"Not yet," Zea corrected him cynically. "How long do you think it will take to heal?"

"Too long, my bet is that you won't be able to really walk on it for at least another week, and even at that point it will be painful. You need to keep off of it if you want any improvement. You're lucky. I don't think any of the ligaments were torn. Still, we don't have any ice or medicine," Kan mused.

Zea didn't say anything. Her face was a hardened, a mask of indifference. Inside she was assessing how badly this set them back. Kan and Avanna had impressed her earlier- she didn't expect them to fight Vlad at all. That didn't mean either of them were prepared to become killers though. Earlier, they were just protecting themselves in the heat of an adrenaline high. It wouldn't have lasted, not long enough to fend off their morales.

"I think I'm going to run out and try and get more water," Avanna spoke suddenly.

"What?" Zea said, surprised.

"The water, we never got it since we got attacked," Avanna persisted. There was a determined fire in her eyes that Zea hadn't seen in her before. Avanna, it seemed, had more guts than Zea had anticipated. Good.

"Are you kidding? We just got attacked earlier. They know where we go to the river now. You can't go back there," Kan started babbling, panic rising in his chest.

"No, I think it's a good idea," Zea spoke. Avanna's eyes lit up, happy that she could be of use. "Just don't go back to that same spot as earlier, and make sure you're careful. We're going to need some water anyways. Kan, weren't you the one complaining about how you needed some to wash Avanna's knees with?"

"Yeah, but it's not worth dying over," Kan said nervously.

"I'll be fine," Avanna insisted.

Kan didn't look happy, but he knew there was no use in arguing. He was outnumbered. Avanna jumped to her feet, and dusted herself off. "I'll grab a few extra pots from some of the other houses when I'm closer to the river. See you guys soon," she called over her shoulder as she walked out the front door.

Zea nodded her goodbye, and leaned back against the wall silently. Seeing that he had done his best for the time being, Kan stopped fusing over her ankle, and walked to the other room, grabbing two tomatoes they had found out in the fields the previous day. He handed one to Zea, and the two began eating an early lunch. Zea frowned as she ate. Things definitely weren't going as smoothly as she had hoped. She knew that it wasn't going to be simple though. If winning was easy, maybe District Nine would have more than three victors.

"But it was the first time, you know?" Kan was saying.

Zea looked up at him, blinking. She hadn't even realized he had been talking. "Yeah," she said, pretending like she had heard him.

"Hey are you done with that?" he asked, pointing at her tomato.

"Um, yeah, I am," she said, handing him the green top remains of the tomato. He hopped up and walked over to the door to throw the trash outside. Just as he came in view of the window though, he threw himself noisily against the wall, holding his breath. Zea looked up at him alarmed. _Who? _she mouthed.

"The girl from Ten," he whispered back. Swallowing, Kan's eyes settled on Zea's leg. He had to handle this himself. He scurried along the wall to the cabinet, pulling his metal bar from the shadows. Zea could see the girl passing by the window, her eyes trained on the road ahead and a dangerous looking sword in her hands. She didn't seem to have seen them just yet though.

Meanwhile, Kan was approaching the door, ready to ambush her.

Knowing she had to stop this before it started, Zea jumped to her feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ankle, and dove towards him. She grabbed the boy's arm, pulling him away from the door. Kan, who was never that coordinated in the first place, fell back, hitting the floor with a thump. Zea held her breath, peering out the window at Ten. As the girl kept walking, Zea let out a pent up breath. They were still safe, at least for now.

"Are you okay?" Zea asked Kan quietly.

He pushed himself upright. "Yeah I'm fine... Geez, your ankle, you just stood on it," he said, hustling over and grabbing the logs to elevate it again.

"Next time, make sure they've seen you before you start attacking," Zea said wearily.

Kan sighed a light laugh. "Got it," he said with a smile. "No more attacking people who aren't threats."

The two laughed again, as a light pinging noise filled the air. Zea's eyes snapped up, thinking of the girl again. Kan made eye contact with her before, moving back towards the door, bar in hand. Outside, Ten was nowhere to be seen; however, a silver parachute was. He opened it, a smile quickly lighting up his face.

"Medicine," he announced, holding it up to Zea. "Looks like your ankle isn't going to be such a problem after all."

* * *

On the other side of the town, Avell crept closer to the castle. His small body was pressed against a house as he squinted at the entrance to the castle. He could see the District Two girl's blonde hair just inside the doorway as she peered out at the town. She looked bored and didn't seem to have any intention of moving from her spot. He grinned. This was perfect. He slipped back into the village, looping around and taking his time to make it all the way to the back of the castle. Across the river, he could see a spot of rock that clearly had been tampered with. A pile of grey dust speckled the ground around it.

Avell reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of gunpowder. The moat was his first obstacle. Wading in, he took it one step at a time, holding the sack of powder high above his head so that it wouldn't get wet. They never taught him how to swim in District Three, but luckily the moat wasn't too deep. Just as he reached the point where he thought he was going to be submerged, the slope of the invisible ground changed, and he was exiting the water. His cloths were sopping wet now, and he'd have to be sure to do something about them later. That wasn't important now though. Before he could be seen, he ran to the rock and pulled it out, revealing a large hole in the wall, leading down to a dark room. Avell grinned and slipped through the crevice.

Operation kill the careers had begun.

* * *

**Castle of Glass by Linkin Park**

* * *

**A/N Really short chapter here, and again, no deaths. It was mostly set up, but as you guys can see. The storm is coming. Get excited. I'm excited (thus two chapters in two days.) Anywho,**

**Until next time,**

**Tales. **


	30. Red Hands

Red Hands

"The fire burns, I'm not the one with the match, man, that gun is loaded but it's not in my hands."

* * *

Dust was perched on a low branch of the tree, his legs swinging free below him as he lathered the paste on his darts. An easy smile lit up his face, as always. Dice was below him, leaning against the trunk of the tree. He appeared to have dozed off. The hulking tribute's head was tilted back, and his jaw slacked. Dust smirked to himself. For a guy who spent most of his time brooding, Dice didn't look so intimidating when he was unconscious.

Glancing down at his weapons, he nodded in approval. Everything was now covered with the ground mixture of poppy and castor beans; although, the darts were covered the best. He wasn't entirely sure whether the mixture was deadly. Of course, anyone who sustained so much as a grazing by one of his weapons would definitely be sent through a loop. Red used poppy sometimes in some of the morphling mixes when he was running low on the "good stuff". Apparently it produced similar effects. As for castor beans, Dust only knew that Books had told him not to eat any on the way to District Eight during his smuggling runs. Obviously, the plant must have had some serious side effects, or else Books would have watched him eat it and then laughed when he had diarrhea later.

"Oi, wake up," Dust called down to his partner in crime.

Dice stirred, looking lazily up. "You finished messing around with plants?"

"Yeah, I want to test it out now," Dust nodded, jumping off his branch and onto the ground. "Ever gone hunting for rabbits before?"

"No," Dice said, looking less than thrilled.

"Well, we'll just have to add that to your 'Exciting New Things I Experienced After Getting Reaped for the Hunger Games' list," Dust piped, as he began to make his way through the trees of the forest.

"Joy," Dice rolled his eyes.

The two boys crept quietly along, their eyes scanning the ground for some sign of animal life. Earlier when they had entered the forest, the ground had been teeming with creatures. Something must have startled Dice every couple of minutes. Of course, now that they wanted one of the animals to appear, they seemed to be mysteriously missing. In his mind, Dust cursed the gamemakers- this had to be on purpose. They were ruining all of his fun. Neither boy realized they were heading back towards the village until the trees started thinning, and the town came into view in the distance.

"Hey Dust, maybe we should-" Dice began. He paused though when his eyes saw the next.

"I see it too," Dust said in awe. A few yards ahead of them, there was a fence separating the forest from the village. On top of one of the posts was a large nest, about the size of the reaping bowls. More importantly though, there was a bird sitting in the next. A large one, with vibrant scarlet feathers and liquid golden eyes. Dust wasn't sure what it was, but he knew he had found his target. Pulling out his darts and his dart gun, he began to take aim.

"Are you kidding me? That bird is bigger than you are," Dice hissed. "Go shoot something else."

"You're exaggerating. That bird is only half the size of me," Dust brushed him off, continuing to line up his shot.

"Not the point. You're asking for us to get attacked," Dice persisted.

"Then get your sword out," Dust said. Before Dice could let out another complaint, he fired. The dart crossed the small clearing within seconds, landing in the side of the bird's meaty throat. "Damn it, I was going for the eye," Dust muttered.

The bird had been aroused though. It's head snapped towards them, eyes angry and very aware. Letting out a powerful squawk, it spread its giant wings showing them it's full size. For a moment, it looked like it might not do anything. Then it attacked. The bird leapt from its perch, diving towards them, its sharp beak snapping as it flew. It's wrinkled talons were wide as it scratched at them.

Dust was all too delighted.

"Run," he cried, breaking back towards the forest. Dice didn't have to be told twice. The two boys sprinted forwards, each runner keeping pace with the other. Behind them the bird weaved between the trees with ease, not having any intent of losing them.

"Told you this was a bad idea," Dice spat as they sprinted. Just as the bird was about to catch them though, it faltered. It's huge body clipped one of the trees, causing it to spin to the earth with a thud. Dust stopped running, and started approaching it cautiously. The bird was still alive, as it heaved its body into the upright position and began to wobble in circles on the ground.

"Ha, I drugged it," Dust grinned, watching curiously.

"Congratulations. You drugged a giant killer bird. You should feel real accomplished you know. I know I've always aspired to drug birds for a living," Dice muttered sarcastically.

Dust knew his friend had no right to be bitter though as the bird flopped onto the ground immobile. The bird was living- or maybe dead now, he wasn't sure- proof that his poison had worked. Licking his lips, Dust turned his thoughts to the careers, namely the big guy from One who he had shown up in the training room.

It was only a matter of time- Dust was itching for a fight.

* * *

The dungeon was exactly like Dust had explained it. The air was thick and cold on his skin, dank enough to make him feel like he had broken out in a fearful cold sweat. Heavy iron chains were strewn every which way, lying all over the ground. Barred cells lined the walls, all open, and some containing skeletons. The only source of light was that streaming through the opening Avell had climbed in from, and he smell of rotting death seeped slowly to into his nose, making him gag. This was not the type of place he wanted to linger in.

Quickly, Avell snuck forwards, trying not to flinch as something suspiciously hard crunched underneath his boot. His heart was pounding at a million beats per minute. He could practically feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had been waiting years for this feeling, and he already knew it was worth it.

Finding the stairs was a relatively easy task. After rounding a corner, the light from his entrance spot was out of view, leaving only a small glow from the far wall for him to use as guidance. He followed the light, finding a narrow staircase at its source. He scaled them, climbing out from the pit into the lavishness of the rest of the castle. He knew he was on the right track when the stone floor transitioned to lush red velvet carpet beneath him.

Soon he came to the first landing, and he paused there. Theoretically, this was the first floor, where the girl from Two was sitting on guard. The worried little kid inside of him whispered to him, telling him that he should go check to make sure she was still there. The more logical part of him knew that it was a risk he couldn't take. Careers supposedly had eyes in the back of their heads. What if she heard him? No, he had to keep going and hope that he didn't get caught. It was the only way.

He hurried up after that, climbing seven more flights before he thought he was in the right place. It was a patch of blood smeared on the wall that told him this had to be the right floor. This blood trail must be remains from the bloodbath. He jogged through the floor, turning corners, and hoping that he was traveling in the right direction. Every minute he wasted lost now was one he might not be able to get back. Unfortunately, nobody was conveniently waiting around a corner with a map.

Just as he began to question whether he was on the correct floor, he came upon it.

The throne room was just as grand as he remembered it. It was obviously inhabited now, with half used supplies sprawled all over the place. The jeweled Cornucopia sparkled with color from the light that streamed through President Snow's stained glass window. Avell smiled up at the man's portrait. If he just closed his eyes, he could picture Panem's leader placing the crown upon his head.

He had business to handle first though.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the gunpowder, and looked around. If things were ideal, he'd figure out a way for the careers to detonate the powder themselves. His original plan had been for Auden to build him some kind of remote detonator for the landmines that were undoubtedly laying dormant under his feet. He hadn't thought she'd be so unyielding though. With the gunpowder, he'd have to set it off himself up close. Of course, that either meant he would have to blow up the career's camp early or he'd have to stick around and deal with the mess that followed. It wasn't even a choice really. Staying would be suicide.

He'd just have to hope that destroying the career's supplies would be enough to make them turn on each other. Maybe he'd be able to frame the girl from Two somehow. Walking into the center of the room, he looked around, trying to pick out something that might belong to her specifically. Quickly, he gathered up one of the sleeping bags, a small handful of food, a few extra knives, and a back pack and set them to the side. There. Now they'd think that she'd been saving just enough for her to make her escape, alone. As a quick afterthought, he made up a small pack for himself, stashing a long knife in his belt for later.

He sighed as he untied the gunpowder, ready to spread it out and blow up the entire room. This wasn't the grand explosion he had planned. None of the careers were going to die from this, not directly.

"What 'cha doing kiddo?" a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Avell froze, his eyes snapping up. Across the room, the girl from Two was leaning against the door post. She looked too calm with her shining blonde hair half tucked into a pony tail and an axe precariously resting in her fingers. The metal was stained with dried blood from some precious kill. She was smirking at him, her eyes alight with humor.

Run or stay: those were his options. Gauging her expression, he decided on the later. At this point, running was a death sentence. He was no longer the one in control here.

"Frankly, I'm about to make your camp go boom," Avell said carefully.

She laughed. "Really?" she said, her eyebrow curving upwards. "Well I guess that means I don't have many options here do I."

"But you do," Avell said quickly, forcing himself to remain calm. His palms were sweating badly as he watched the girl finger her weapon. He never felt so close to death before.

"I do? What, you think I am going to let you blow the roof off?" she asked, stepping forwards and raising her axe.

"Would you consider it?" Avell asked lamely, a fearful knot forming in his stomach.

To his surprise, the girl paused, her eyes darkening with thought. He couldn't believe it, she actually was pondering his request. "Depends," she said. "Who are you trying to kill?"

Everyone, Avell wanted to say. He kept his mouth closed, however, because he valued his life. "Whoever you want to kill," Avell responded. All was not lost yet.

"Smart kid," the girl smirked. "I think we can do business. Don't you think?"

Avell nodded.

"Now let's start with what's in the bag. Feel like sharing?"

"Gunpowder."

"And you were planning on blowing everything up while they were all out?" Alexis asked.

"I wanted to do it while you were here, but I didn't have anything to detonate it with," Avell admitted. Alexis nodded, looking around the room analytically. Her eyes were cold, and her expression calculated. Avell felt his spine shiver. This was what a true career looked like, underneath the bravado and he arrogance. The beefy males that always paraded around as leaders didn't have this kind of potential. No, it was he Quier thoughtful ones who were the most dangerous. Of all the things a tribute has to fear in the arena, an intelligent career should always be at the the the list.

"So I'm going to tell it to you straight then, because we're pretending we're friends right?" Alexis said, smirking to herself. "The girl from One, I want her dead. I wouldn't mind if it took out a few others as well of course. The boy from One, girl from Eleven, District Four, any of them. The pack this year is less than stable, and I don't really plan on sticking around much longer. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to take the gun powder and make a trail. See that pile of ashes over there? It's our fire pit. If you start the trail there, then all you'll have to do is wait. The first thing they'll do when they get back is light the fire, and that will set everything off. From the pit, you're going to take the trail over there and dump like half the powder in that sleeping bag- it's Porcelain Braavo's bed if you're curious. If there is any left afterwards, put it in the food. Whoever doesn't light the fire when they get back is going to go straight for the food," Alexis instructed.

Avell nodded, a grin slowly stretching across his face. This was perfect. Completely and utterly perfect.

"And you're going to let me go after right?" Avell checked, knowing he had to make sure all his bases were covered.

"If it works, then yeah, you're free to go, no harm done," Alexis grinned. "If it doesn't, and something goes wrong, you're screwed."

"Sounds like a plan then," he said.

She nodded. "I'm going back downstairs then. If you're still up here when they get back, well, I warned you." With that, she turned her back and disappeared into the hallway.

* * *

It was well past noon by the time the other careers returned to the castle. They had had another fruitless day of hunting, not that it surprised Alexis. She was beginning to think that splitting the career pack would make these Games go faster. These arena was just too large for them to realistically be able to find anyone while in such la it rowdy group.

"You guys have fun?" Alexis smiled amiably as they crossed the bridge to her side of he moat.

Vlad groaned and rolled his eyes at her. He seemed even more irritated than he had earlier that morning, if that was possible. Patience was not one of his virtues. The coming split would probably raise his spirits though. Porcelain's death would most certainly out him in a good mood. Alexis wasn't yet sure whether she would stay to enjoy the positivity with him. On one hand, he was her District partner, and she trusted him to an extent, definitely more than everyone else out here. On the other, perhaps it was just time for her to go it alone. After all, this first alliance was a complete and utter failure.

Either way, she would have to find some way to warn him. Even if it was just because she didn't want the mentors bearing any hard feelings towards her when she returned home.

"Have you been keeping the fire burning?" Airin inquired as they walked through the front entrance. "I could go for a good piece of grilled fish right now."

"No," Alexis replied, sounding bored. "I've been sitting down here all day watching the front door. Anyways, we don't have any fish. Porcelain probably would've eaten it by now if they had stashed any in the Cornucopia."

"Come on now," Rubin said with a sigh. He didn't even bother finishing his sentence, deciding that it wasn't worth the fight a few seconds after he jumped to his District partner's defence.

"Oh it's okay Rubin dear. Alexis has just had a long boring day sitting here there all by herself. I'm sure she's just letting out a bit of pent up energy. It's probably good for her... complexion," Porcelain smiled as she examined her nails. Her tone was about as unsympathetic as an angry mutt is as it slowly picks apart a tribute's body while the victim's loved ones watch on live television, making Alexis's blood boil. She couldn't wait for that girl's guts to be splattered on the throne room walls.

The group headed up the steps, and Alexis tried to pull Vlad towards the back so they could talk. Unfortunately, he seemed intent on being the first up the steps. It was another stupid leadership competition with Rubin. Couldn't he see? In just a few minutes silly questions of leadership would be pointless.

"Tomorrow we should spit into groups when we hunt, I think," Cree said quietly as they passed the third landing. Alexis caught Rocio grimacing a few feet away. It ci cured to her that the District Four girl was always a little less than eager when it came to hunting. It was a little odd.

"Oh, so now District One is seeing my point?" Vlad said, sending Rubin a half-victorious half-murderous glare. "I agree with her, getting into a fight without numbers on our side is better than getting into no fight at all."

"Technically, she isn't District One," Rubin shot back, narrowing his eyes. Cree looked like she'd just received a blow to the stomach. Again, Alexis found herself smirking. It only took another second for Rubin to realize what he had just said ants start looking guilty. Still he didn't apologize though. He couldn't risk looking weak in front of Vlad.

They were coming up onto the throne room now. The familiar sight of the luxurious Cornucopia, made her heart pump a little faster. Any minute now.

"I'll go get the fire," Vlad said in an attempt to get away from the rest of his alliance.

"Wait!"

All eyes turned to Alexis. Had she really just called that out? Crap. Specifically, she noticed Porcelain looking at her with narrowed eyes. She hoped she didn't just screw something up.

"Let Porcelain Princess carry a little bit of her own weight over here for once. You're injured anyways," Alexis snapped, her tone too harsh to match the desperation of her original cry.

Porcelain just laughed, the very thought of doing doing work at District Two's bidding amusing her. "I think I'll stand here and watch you light the fire," she smiled cruely, a hint of some inner evil surfacing. Did she know?

"I broke my nose, not my legs," Vlad grumbled. "I'm perfectly capable of lighting the fire."

"There you have it," Porcelain said. Then placing a hand on Rubin's shoulder she added. "I'll be over there, if you need me hun."

Alexis didn't say anything as she watched Vlad walk over to the fire. She had tried to warn him. Surely her District would understand, she'd given her best effort. Vlad just couldn't take the blatantly obvious hint. He was forfeiting his own life here on his terms.

"Hey Airin, feel like helping me out with the net I was talking about earlier?" Rubin asked. Airin nodded in affirmative and the two started to walk off. They wouldn't make it far. Alexis tightened her grip on her axe as she took one last scan of the room, trying to register everyone's locations.

She was always going to remember this moment. In the middle of the room, she watched as Vlad took the matches out of one of the packs.

Beside her, Rocio stood awkwardly, mumbling something friendly to her, but apparently not expecting much of a response.

Vlad flipped open the sealed flap, exposing the small wooden catalysts that would undoubtably lead to his death.

Cree had disappeared, walking somewhere to do nothing.

With one strike, Vlad ignited the fire, reaching out his arm and dangling it above the powder laced pit.

Porcelain, the target, the ultimate enemy, was heading towards her sleeping bag. She had not yet reached it.

Vlad dropped the match.

Alexis closed her eyes.

Boom.

* * *

**Red Hands by Walk Off the Earth**

* * *

**A/N: Boom. I love this chapter. I've been waiting to write it since like the D6 reapings when I decided it was going to happen. Again no deaths just yet, but any predictions on who you think is going to die next chapter? I'm curious as to see who you think is a goner.**

**Until next time**

**- Tales ;)**


	31. Dead Hearts

Dead Hearts

"They were kids that I once knew, now they're just dead hearts to you."

* * *

Boom.

She didn't know where it had come from. One minute she was watching as Airin and Rubin chatted from a distance, and the next, everything had gone to Hell. The explosion came from nowhere, erupting from the center of the room and moving outwards. She had gotten lucky. The other side of the room seemed to be burning as fiery red banners flickered through her speckled vision.

Or maybe she wasn't lucky. Was this her punishment for almost killing her father- an eternity in the flaming pit?

Rocio shook her head, trying to regain her bearings. Everything was spinning. Blinking, she looked up, watching the flames in awe. That smell hit her nose first. They tell you in the training academy about the smell of burning flesh. It's something you're supposed to know, just in case. She never really understood what they were expecting, but the minute she breathed in the mixture of air, smoke, and putrid stench, she knew. Her eyes found the body a moment later. It was mangled with ugly red and black burns like some kind of nightmarish monster, and it was decidedly un-hole. One of the arms was missing, and a chunk of the right leg lay feet away from the head.

She felt sick.

Who was it?

The question hit her hard, forcing the bile down. She needed to know. All she could think about was how Airin had crossed the room before the explosion, not to the burning side. Thank God he wasn't there. But he wasn't near her either; he wouldn't have landed where she did. She needed to find him. They had discussed cutting themselves loose from the pack just earlier that day. Both of them had been serious about it. They knew that the others all thought they were the weakest link, but had both decided that they still had time to run. The pack wasn't supposed to split this early, on day three.

Stumbling forwards, Rocio somehow managed to rise to her feet. Like a kicked dog, she limped forwards, awkwardly trying to sprint. Her left leg wasn't bearing her weight well. Was it injured? She couldn't tell. Her entire being was being consumed with adrenaline, numbing all possible agony to a dull ache. Looking down, she saw that her pants were soaked scarlet, hanging torn. She swallowed and pushed forwards. She was too lucid for it to be too serious. Surviving today was more important than surviving tomorrow.

She tripped, landing on her side, the feeling of the stone floor skinning her flesh making her eyes water. The body was just in front of her, within her reach. The head, or rather what was left of it, was facing away from her. She just had to turn it, and she would be able to see. Her heart pounded with anticipation. The tension welled in her chest as if coming onslaught of grief was already fighting to take her sanity. _It's him_, the demon inside her cried out prematurely. _It has to be._

The tip of a boot crashed into her stomach just before her fingers brushed against the body's singed hair.

"Back off," a voice growled.

Rocio's eyes snapped up, as adrenaline poured through her. Alexis was standing above her, a strange expression defining her face. In her eyes, a fierce sense of protection burned for the world to see. What an odd emotion for a time like this. There was no grief, no guilt, no glee. Not even a sense of shock. The only thing that existed was the aggressive defender. Rocio's heart sang with both confusion and relief. Alexis wouldn't care if Airin had died. No, the only person who she even remotely cared for was Vlad. She looked at the body again, and she saw him. The bulky frame, short hair, even the way he lay dead, it was all purely Vlad.

And oddly enough, Rocio felt sorrow poke at her soul.

Then she realized: Alexis was not surprised.

Looking up, she met her fellow career's hardened green eyes. There was no guilt though. "You didn't," Rocio breathed. Alexis didn't respond, her face remaining a passive mask. And Rocio just knew.

She did.

A few feet away from her, she spotted a long pointed spear lying flat against the floor. It was Rubin's. She didn't even think twice. Rolling over, Rocio tumbled across the floor, her fingers slipping around the hot metal handle. Pushing off from the ground with her spare hand, she launched herself into a head on attack. Alexis, who had been standing with her axe dangling limply from her hand, moved into action just as quickly, bringing it upwards and clipping the spear out of the way.

"So she does know how to fight," Alexis mumbled. The taunt seemed less venomous than it usually did. Bullying District Four was only fun, apparently, when they took it in silence. Well, Rocio was done sitting around. She was done taking it.

With a savage battle cry, she parried forwards, feigning left before spinning right. Alexis anticipated the move, but only at the last second, and the spear sliced open a thin cut in the girl's upper arm. Rocio didn't waste any time, using her gymnastics training to send her into a perfect somersault, she rolled to the side, avoiding Alexis's deadly hack of the axe. Years of training flowed through Rocio's limbs. It had been years since she'd touched a spear, years since she felt the sense of power it gave her. They had told her that she was the best, that if she wanted to, she could be unstoppable. Really, it was like no time had passed at all.

Alexis attacked now, curving the but end of the axe up high, before slicing down wards. She missed Rocio completely, but it was what she was aiming to do. Just as the axe passed in front of Rocio's chest, she pushed it forwards, stabbing with the pointed end of the handle.

Rocio flipped back on instinct, but just as she landed her excellent round-a-bout, a searing pain ripped through her leg. She cried out, crumpling to the ground again. Through gritted teeth, she stabbed at Alexis again. The thrust didn't have the same power behind it though, she needed her full range of motion so that she could put her weight into the parries. Alexis blocked the blow with her arm easily. Bringing her boot up, Alexis nailed Rocio in the jaw, a sickly cracking noise ringing through the air as she did so.

Somehow, Rocio was immune to the pain though. All she could think about was Vlad, and his body. She didn't see Airin, he must be dead too- his remains so scattered that she could see nothing of him but the blood on the walls. The anger fueled her. Using her good leg for leverage, she swung her spear around, knocking over Alexis by the knees. The girl from Two fell, hitting the ground hard.

Rocio knew this was her moment to end it. She flung herself forwards, her spear clutched tightly in her hands. One stab downwards was all it would take. One stab right now, while she was down, and District Two would be out of the running this year for good.

_ Let's see what you do when your life is on the line. _

That's what Seymour Yew had said to her. He knew this would happen, that she would break. Something in the depths of her damned soul stopped her. Just as the point of the dreaded weapon neared Alexis's throat, she felt herself hesitate. For a moment, she felt like she wasn't herself anymore. No, she was a viewer, watching with both fear, anticipation, and excitement as the District Four female, a career that she previously thought was weak, went for the kill shot. Emotion racked through her body. What had she become?

Her muscles tightened and she hesitated. Just for one second.

And then everything was over.

Alexis saw the pause before it even happened. Even as the spear plummeted towards her exposed throat, her hand was feeling for the hilt of her axe. All she needed was that second of thought, and she heaved the weapon upwards, cleaving it into Rocio's side. The girl from Four yelped, her eyes widening as she watched the blood splatter against her enemy's face, her blood. She wasn't able to do it. She had some close, but when her true self was bared naked and vulnerable to the Hunger Games, she was not able to kill.

As she entered the land of the forgotten, a small smile fluttered onto her face.

Alexis pulled her axe out of Rocio's body as the cannon sounded. She hadn't heard Vlad's canon; it had been drowned out by the sound of the explosion, possibly along with those of her other allies. She wasn't sure what had happened to everyone else. She couldn't see them between the smoking red carpet and the piles of rubble. Just a few feet away, half of the Cornucopia had been completely obliterated. On the other end of the room, President Snow's stained glass window had shattered. She gritted her teeth. She couldn't linger by Vlad's body any longer. She had to get out now before she learned someone else was still alive.

One near death experience with a former-ally was enough for one day.

On the other side of the room, Rubin let out a low moan. He had hit his head against the wall when he fell, and now it felt as if someone was trying to pry it open like it was a stubborn latch. He squinted around the room, as he tried to ignore the sour sting of smoke in his nostrils. The sound of the cannon shook him. He didn't have to be told one of his allies had just died. Was it Porcelain? Cree?

"Rocio?" a panicked voice called out, just feet away from him. Rubin jerked his head right, ignoring the awful throbbing pain that the movement brought him. Airin was on his knees with one hand on the wall and one hand on the floor. He looked unharmed, but the expression of unimaginable terror and confusion that plagued his face told Rubin otherwise. Airin was blind; he had no idea what had just happened. All he knew was that something had exploded, the room smelled like fire, and a canon just sounded. Rubin felt his chest swell.

He was still the leader of this alliance, even if there wasn't anyone left in it.

"Airin," he said, staggering over to the boy's side. "Airin it's Rubin, we have to go."

Airin's shoulders relaxed slightly, as he regained his composure. He wasn't alone in the darkness anymore. "Rocio. We have to find Rocio," he demanded.

Rubin's eyes scanned the room, looking for any of the others. His breath hitched as he saw the bodies in the center, just beside the demolished remains of the stairs. There were two of them. One was obviously male, so it had to be Vlad. It appeared that Rubin wouldn't have to worry about the competition anymore. The explosion must have killed him. Beside Vlad though, lay a more slender figure, one with bloodied chestnut colored hair. A pool of fresh blood puddled around her. Someone had killed her- the most recent canon. Rubin felt his tongue blanch.

"No we have to get out of here now," he said powerfully, dragging Airin to his feet. Airin didn't respond as water welled up in his unfocused eyes. Rubin felt himself soften slightly. Airin was a relatively intuitive guy; he must know. "Come on, before we die too," Rubin added quietly. Airin just nodded, following Rubin as he ran out the closest door, disappearing into the hallway.

In the hallway immediately outside of the main exit, Alexis stumbled towards the stair well. With each step, she felt her strength returning. The initial shock was passing, and in it's absence came her composure. Doing a self-assessment of her condition, she decided that the explosion had been a success. She was uninjured, other than the scratch or two that Rocio had given her. Today had been better than the bloodbath, in fact. She had removed at least two huge competitors from the Games. Now, she was one step closer to victory.

Of course, there was the one minor fact that she had killed her District partner. A twinge of guilt cut across her heart. If she made it out of here, she'd probably spend the rest of her life with that weight floating in the back of her mind. It was a necessary sacrifice though. Vlad was a trusted ally, a friend even, but he always had to die. Better go now than later, she supposed. At least she didn't have to look him in the eye when she killed him, or rather, when Avell killed him. Yes, that's right. It was Avell's bomb, not hers. The blood was not on her hands, it was on that kid's. All she had done was nothing. She was clean, almost.

She wondered if anyone else had died. Was Porcelain's body back there buried under the rubble? She would find out later tonight she supposed, when the anthem played. Then she would make the decision of whether to hunt down Avell or not. She had been serious about her threat. If Porcelain was still alive, well, than his life would pay the debt.

"Running from something dear?" a hostile voice cut through her conscience. Alexis stopped walking. Perhaps she wouldn't have to wait.

She spun around just in time to see Porcelain's fist connect with her gut. For someone who put in so much effort to keep her high and mighty hands clean, Porcelain was surprisingly strong. Alexis doubled over, dropping her axe as she hit the ground. Porcelain was immediately on top of her, pressing a short knife against her throat and tracing a shallow cut across it. Alexis felt the blood trickle down her neck, and she understood the threat clearly. If she moved, Porcelain had no qualms about killing her.

Looking up, Alexis dared to meet her aggressor's eyes, and for the first time, she saw Porcelain, truly saw her. The sickly sweet act had vanished completely as Porcelain's eyes burned with rage. The right side of Porcelain's face was smeared with blood that dripped down from a gash just above her eyebrow, and soot was laced through her once pristine hair. In Porcelain's eyes, Alexis saw a sadistic murderer that she never knew existed. Porcelain had told everyone that she had gotten a kill in the bloodbath, and Alexis had never really believed her. But as the girl's sour breath brushed against Alexis's face, the doubt vanished. Perhaps Porcelain was playing a more sick and a more twisted Games than anyone ever realized.

"My sleeping bag was laced with gunpowder sweetheart," Porcelain seethed. "Yours wasn't. Vlad's wasn't. Even District Four's wasn't. But I saw it in mine. Did you really think that you had fooled me when we got back earlier. I knew. I knew that you had planted something with those disgustingly bloody hands of yours." Alexis gritted her teeth as Porcelain traced another shallow cut into her skin, this time into the spot just above her eyebrow- the same spot from where Porcelain was bleeding.

"But deary, you are the fool here," she breathed.

"I didn't set the bomb you know," Alexis spat back, venomously. "I just let it happen. Someone else did. Not that I wouldn't have been overjoyed if it had killed you. I never pretended that we were friends." Porcelain paused, her face twitching at the news. Her steady hand stopped moving the knife through Alexis's forehead. After a minute of silent waiting, Porcelain returned the weapon back to Alexis's throat. The girl from Two braced her muscles, in two seconds she was going to heave Porcelain off of her. Then the fight would really begin.

"The name, I want the name. Who did it?" Porcelain demanded madly.

"Avell. Avell Watts from District Three," Alexis answered without hesitation. Porcelain stood up, removing her weight from Alexis's body. Before Alexis could go for her axe though, Porcelain kicked it away.

"I'll kill him then," Porcelain said, still lacking her previous suave. "Consider yourself lucky. I am choosing to spare your life today."

Alexis didn't respond as Porcelain disappeared into the stairwell. It appeared she wouldn't have to hunt down Avell after all. Porcelain was going to do it for her. Alexis stood up and grabbed her axe as she rubbed her bleeding neck. She corrected herself- she wouldn't have to hunt down Avell, _if_ Porcelain got the chance to kill him. Tomorrow Alexis would begin her own little hunt, and if everything went well, it would end with Porcelain's motionless body lying by her feet.

Back in the throne room, the fire was beginning to calm down. The castle was made up of stone, and so there was only so much flammable material for the flames to consume before they died out. In the wake of the explosion, a pile of burning rubble remained. The once jeweled and shining Cornucopia was now half-destroyed, and what was left of it was covered in black ashes. Stray pieces of weaponry was strewn all over the room. Rocio's and Vlad's bodies were lying at the foot of the elevated platform, just in front of the throne itself, as if they were human sacrifices to the high and mighty king. Yet even their lord was destroyed: the throne was vacant.

Everything in the room smoldered from lost lives. Beside the Cornucopia's remains, a pile of rubble moved. Rocks rolled down onto the floor as Cree clawed herself free, coughing from the smoke. Her blonde hair was matted and dirty, and her face was littered with bruises cuts and blood. But she was alive. Looking around, she saw that she was alone. The only others had disappeared, leaving her behind to die.

She had heard everything- Rubin and Airin's escape, Alexis and Rocio's fight. She was even able to watch Porcelain slip out of the door from between the rocks that covered her. Nobody had paused to look for her. In the wake of chaos, she was simply a nobody, a girl from District Eleven who thought she was good enough to play career. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She knew she had just watched her empire fall apart. Or at least her perception of an empire. One explosion, that's all it took to break the career pack into unrepairable fragments. There was no real emotional bonds between them. To her idols, to the people who she had been pining after ever since she had left District One, she was nothing.

She had never felt so confused before. If she was not some sort of golden girl from District One, than who was she? She thought of District Eleven, of her time there. Her confusion worsened. Eleven didn't feel like home either, but then again, she never wanted it to be. Was this her fault? Did she bring this loneliness upon herself?

She wasn't sure.

She needed so badly to be sure.

* * *

**Dead Hearts by Stars**

* * *

**A/N: And it all comes tumbling down. I knew even before I started collecting characters for this story that I wanted the careers to fall apart early in this story. In Fading to Darkness, they never really split (a fact that I think greatly contributed to Kegan's victory), and so I thought an early break would be something new to write. And this was most certainly dramatic.**

**RIP Vlad and Rocio.**

**Vlad: So I think a lot of you knew this, but the District Two male didn't really have a chance to win this story, since Kegan won my first story. Still, I'm really proud with how Vlad turned out. I think he was almost a stereotypical career, but he was more real than that card board cut out of a character that we all think of when we hear the word career. He was an honest guy, who just wanted to win. He wasn't psychotic, in that he didn't really like killing, he didn't think it was fun, he just knew it was necessary. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I think this is how most careers must have been. You can raise someone to be a killer, but you can't raise them to enjoy killing. You have to be mentally sick to be a psychopath, and most of the kids entered into the tribute academy would still be sane. Vlad's character was incredibly realistic, and it's what I liked about him. I think I would have sent Vlad further actually. What made me kill him now was the irony that came with these circumstances around his death. In Fading to Darkness, the D2 female died for her District partner. In Finding the Light, the D2 female made a conscious decision that she was going to let him die. Thank you SamanthaTide for submitting him, he was a joy to write. **

**Rocio: Ah Rocio, the second victim in this chapter. Of all the careers, in my head, I consider her the strongest fighter. I said several times over that she used to be a prodigy in District Four, and I meant it. I know a lot of people were kind of like, 'is she really that tough? She hasn't used a spear in several years, she can't be that great.' But I think that she was just that good that when she touched that spear again, it all just flooded back to her. She died though because she had a set of morals that I wanted her to stick to. In hesitating she essentially chose her fate. Her life experiences molded her into a character that was good to the core, and I'd like to think that with her death, she won. It was her time to go. Thanks a bunch Jess, I think you know I love your characters, she was no different. **

**I'm really happy with this chapter. Hopefully you guys are too :).**

**So until next time,**

**-Tales**


	32. Hey Now

Hey Now

"Hey we're just bleeding for nothing. It's hard to breath when you're standing on your own."

* * *

The night that followed the day of the explosion was cold. A groggy mist was settling over the arena, blowing ominously through the houses, and chilling all those who dared to wonder outside. The sky was cloudy, but only to an extent. Every now and then the moon would peek out from behind it's hiding spot, casting a subtle white glow on the brown earth below.

Avanna and Zea hustled quickly through the dark, each of them carrying a heavy bag full of crops on their back. Despite the autumn chill, they both were sweating from exertion, Avanna more so than Zea. The girl from Eight didn't complain though. If Zea could deal with the aching burn in her thighs and the suffocating squeeze in her lungs without batting an eye, then so could she. As they approached the long uphill path that lead to their cottage, Zea paused.

"You need a break? You look tired. Jewelry vendors don't usually do this much work," Zea said softly.

Avanna's chest sagged in disappointment. She didn't want Zea to know how much she was struggling, but at the same time, the idea of a small pause sounded too sweet to pass up. "Just a few seconds," Avanna nodded, dropping her bag to the ground.

Zea smiled, placing her load beside Avanna's before lowering herself gently to the dirt. In between her fingers she twirled a small bracelet back and forth, looking thoughtful. Avanna glanced at it curiously. "Is that your token?" she asked.

"Yeah. My sister gave it to me during the goodbyes. You want to see it?" Zea asked.

Avanna nodded, taking the bracelet from her ally and examining it. The thing was worn, the dull colors of interwoven threads were probably once vibrant blues, purples, and greens. Now they were almost the same color as the dusty pathway- washed out brown. Really, it was nothing like the kind of bracelets Avanna was used to staring at in her parent's jewelry shop. It was made of neither gold nor silver and didn't have any sort of gem, real or otherwise. Still, Avanna could see it's beauty. Memories always instilled a certain amount of charm in objects. This token was no different.

"It's pretty," Avanna said handing it back to Zea. From the inside of her tunic, she pulled out the silver chain that held her grandmother's wedding band on it. "This is my token. My mom gave it to me when I turned fourteen."

"That's nice," Zea said with a soft look. "You were close with your mom right?"

"Of course I was. Weren't you?" Avanna said, as if the very idea were preposterous.

"Yeah, I guess I was," Zea contemplated. "I wasn't always on the best terms with my sister though, the one who gave me my token. I don't know why. I guess we just didn't always get along."

"But you fixed things before you left right?" Avanna said frowning.

Zea shrugged. "We're as good as we've been in a while, yeah, but it's never going to be perfect. That's sort of just how these things go."

Avanna chewed on her lip. Why shouldn't they be perfect? Neither of them had done anything horrible in life; they should be allowed to expect an easy quiet life. She wondered what ever had happened to make the girl so pessimistic. Surely the world wasn't as dark as Zea made it out to be. Yet at the same time, Avanna didn't have it in her to place a hand on the other girl's shoulder and tell her everything was going to be okay. Because it wasn't. At least one of them was going to die within the next week. The more time that passed, the harder it was to sugar coat it. After all, odds were she would be dead within the next week just like Rowan.

Before Avanna had the chance to respond to Zea though, the anthem began playing loudly throughout the arena. The two girls exchanged a knowing glance. They had both heard the dull boom of an explosion earlier, quickly followed by two cannons. It appeared the mystery was about to be revealed, at least in part. Above, the Capitol's seal shone down on them briefly, before fading out, the face of a young powerful career replacing.

Zea's breath hitched, in shock. Avanna suspected that her friend was a tad too happy about the death of the boy from Two. Maybe she shouldn't be judging though. After all, she wasn't exactly upset either. Overhead, Vlad's face faded and was quickly replaced by the girl from District Four, Rocio.

"Two of them," Zea breathed in awe. "That puts them back down to five if you count the girl from Eleven."

"Cree," Avanna supplied the name absent-mindedly.

Zea gave her a sad look quickly, shaking her head. "Sure, Cree," she mumbled.

"Come on," Avanna said, standing up suddenly. She wouldn't sit there in silence with Zea looking at her like she was missing the punch line of a morbid joke. "Let's get back to Kan."

Zea nodded silently and the two heaved their bags onto their shoulders. Avanna shoved her thoughts back into the recesses of her mind. She would have time to ponder the dark shadows of life later. For now, she just had to focus on surviving today.

* * *

As the sun rose on the horizon, Petro reached out and stretched his limbs. His bones creaked as he tried to loosen his joints. His body wasn't quite adjusted to the long nights sleeping on the ground. It was one of the things that people just didn't talk about at home. Everyone knew that the Games tested your hunger tolerance and your thirst tolerance, but no one ever mentioned how much your body ached after lying on the ground for twelve hours.

With a sigh, Petro glanced over at Auden. She was still sleeping soundly beside him, curled up into a ball. She was supposed to be on watch, but apparently had fallen asleep sometime within the past four hours. He wouldn't yell at her about it. The more time he spent with Auden, the more he saw how emotionally vulnerable she was. All she ever did was try to please people, and frankly, sometimes it got on his nerves. The last thing she needed was for him to yell at her about something stupid. Nothing bad happened.

Anyways, he didn't plan on staying with her much longer.

Every day that his life dragged on just made him feel more exhausted, mostly because he was constantly looking over his shoulder. He was waiting for her to slip up, to let onto the reason she was using him. He had several theories in the back of his mind- she needed protection, thought he was growing attached and would sacrifice himself for her, or even simply wanted someone to do half of her work. No matter which one it was, she knew that eventually she would see that his use had expired, and she'd quite literally stab him in the back.

Of course there were moments like this, when he saw her sleeping form, saw the way her black hair cascaded across her peaceful face and her knobby legs pulled to her chest, that he doubted himself. Could someone so... so hurt really betray him? She reminded him of himself sometimes actually. Deep down, he saw the signs of that unutterable fear of loneliness. The only difference between the two of them was that he wasn't afraid the _idea_ of being alone anymore, no, he recognized it as his reality. The sooner she saw that, the better off she'd be.

See? It would just be better for the both of them if he left immediately.

Before he could bring himself to start running though, she stirred. "Petro?" she called out, sounding panicked.

"Right here," he sighed.

She sat up abruptly, looking around herself as if in a daze. When her bright blue eyes found him, she relaxed, pushing the distressed locks of hair back in order "Oh, sorry, I was supposed to be on watch," she smiled, looking embarrassed.

"It's no problem," he said. "It's not like we're dead."

Auden blushed and rose to her feet. "You slept through the anthem last night. Vladimir Pekelo and Rocio Greivers are dead," she said, changing the topic.

"Are they?" Petro raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. If someone had told him he was going to outlive the massive boy from Two last week, he probably would have laughed. At least there had been some action now though. Hopefully the Capitol's insatiable appetite for blood had been ebbed for at least a few hours. "Wonder who got them."

"Probably Remendado Lectart from Six and Dice Bromton from Eight. They're the only other alliance that would be able to kill two careers and get away," Auden contemplated. Petro nodded, trusting Auden's intuition. Odds were that she was right. Unless the careers imploded on themselves that is, which was a possibility.

"We should go down the river," Petro said, jumping to his feet. "We ran out of water, and you know, I think we could both use a bath."

Auden blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Let's head over now," she said, looking like she was tempted to sniff herself.

"I was joking," Petro smiled, though he stood up anyway.

The two walked through the tall grass that was in between the crop fields and the village. The sound of running water could be heard just around the bend; they had purposely chosen a camp site near the river, knowing that they were going to have to visit it again soon. For the thousandth time in the past four days, Petro thought he should feel more nervous than he did. The river, after all, was one of the most dangerous places in the arena. It was the only source of water, thus it had infinite potential for tragedy. He supposed he just didn't care enough about his life to worry about it too much at this point.

He wasn't going to kill himself though. He cared too much about his father to force the man to watch that.

Five minutes passed, and soon they were approaching the rushing river. It he current was particularly strong in their area, but that's why they picked it. Hopefully dangerous waters would mean a lesser chance of intruders.

"Grab the pale," Petro told Auden as he watched the water dance. Auden nodded and ran over to a small hole they'd found previous day, procuring a tiny bucket from its depths. It used to be hanging in the stable where Avell had ran into them, but they had decided to take it for their own purposes.

Handing the bucket to Petro, she watched as he dumped it into the river, heaving it back not land once it was flooding. She wandered if it was easier than it looked because judging from the way he struggled with it, the task was a challenge. Of course, that was nothing compared to their next job. Since they lacked iodine drops, they had to rely on boiling the water to purify it, meaning they had to lug the heavy bucket at least a half mile away from the river.

Little did they know, they would lose the water long before they closed even half the distance. Traveling beside the river, Porcelain prowled. A knife stained with Rowan Diatello and Alexis Hayden's dried blood was clutched in her fist, and her hair was slightly awry. On her face, she wore a deep scowl. The night had not treated her well. The alliance had been split for less than a day, and already she missed the easiness of it. She had to waste her own energy now on the basic things- gathering food and water, surviving. Sleeping outside on the ground was not nearly as comfortable as her warm sleeping bag that used to lay in the throne room.

She could never go back though- not to Rubin, not to Cree, not to Airin and most certainly not to Alexis. No, their deaths were her mission now. She was done playing nice with scum who clearly didn't know their place. In her mind, she replayed the explosion, watching Vladimir take the brunt of the blast. Before she killed her allies, squeezed the last cry of pain from their breakable bodies, she had to kill Avell Watts. Her lip curled just thinking of his name. The boy from District Three, the one who scored a nine, he was the cause of this. She would see to his death, personally.

That was when she saw them- Petro and Auden, walking away from the river. She couldn't place their names to their faces, but she could see the little embroidered Three on the girl's tunic. A sadistic smile stretched onto Porcelain's lips. That girl was Avell's District partner. Perfect.

Slinking ahead, Porcelain broke into a steady jog, quietly closing the gap between her and the alliance ahead. She watched the two carefully, making a quick study of their dynamic. They seemed on friendly terms, talking as they walked. That was good for her. She waited for them to reach the crest of the hill adjacent to the river to strike. Rising up from the grass, she wrapped her arms around the boy, pressing her knife against his neck.

He cried out, the terror coming quickly.

Auden jumped. Petro's name died on her lips as she saw the situation. He had his hands tight around Porcelain's forearm as he tried to struggle free of her grasp, but the career girl was stronger than him. Training gave her the advantage. Porcelain was unnervingly calm. An easy smile played across her chapped lips as she stared at Auden like she was a piece of meat. Auden froze, as horror gripped her stomach. Her fragile world was on the brink- the minute Petro died, she would break.

"Hello dear," Porcelain smiled. "Mind telling me your name."

"Auden," came the choked response.

"Well, Auden," Porcelain said slowly, enunciating every syllable. Petro stared at her, strangely, not looking as panicked as she thought he would be. He seemed to be resting somewhere in between serenity and irrational chaos. Auden swallowed thickly, feeling the tears coming. "Are you on good terms with your District partner?"

"Avell?" Auden asked. Immediately her refined intellect was running wild, connecting things rapidly. Avell, the gunpowder, the explosion, Vlad and Rocio's deaths, now this. Everything made complete and terrible sense, but still she didn't know what to do. She needed a solution, now.

"Yes, Avell," Porcelain said, her patience already breaking down. "I want to know where he is."

"I don't know where he is," Auden said automatically. She needed time to think, time to stall. Porcelain's lip curled.

"Really? Sweetheart, you must see that you can't lie to me. Tell me where he is hiding. You must know something," she persisted.

"I-I really don't know," Auden insisted. Her eyes finding their bucket that was lying a few feet away from Porcelain's feet. A weapon perhaps? Could she win a fight against Porcelain? No, she couldn't. But she might buy some time for Petro to get away. If he lived through this, she would be able to rest peacefully with her fate

Porcelain's plastic cheeks twitched slightly, and her grip tightened around the knife. All the girl could think about was the sound of Avell's screams. She wanted to hear them. And this girl, she was in the way, as was the boy whose life she was currently threatening. She wasn't going to deal with Auden's resistance for very long. "Little girl," Porcelain said, the words leaving her lips like the crack of a whip. "You have seconds."

"I- he- we saw him yesterday morning, we were- he was- by the barn. He left though. He said... He said..." Auden stuttered out, her face turning redder by the minute. Her determination slipped from her in that second, and the panic returned. There was no time to think, no time to formulate a plan. And now she couldn't finish her sentence. Her tutor had made her take a course in abnormal psychology years ago, and she recognized an unstable mind when she saw one. If she told Porcelain the truth, how would she react?

"He said what?" Porcelain practically growled.

"That he was going to kill the careers," Auden squeaked in one breath. At first nobody moved. Only Petro's quivering limbs dared to shift under the tension. Then, she snapped. Porcelain, shrieked as she threw the boy from Five to the ground, her knife, miraculously, leaving him unharmed. Instead, she lunged forwards, grabbing the unprepared Auden by the hair and pulling her close. Auden screamed and tried to struggle away, but it was no use.

"You tell your District partner that he should be very afraid," she breathed, slowly wiping the flat of her blade across Auden's cheek. A few specs of dried plasma came off on the terrified girl's skin, spotting her dirty face with flaky red dots.

And then, just as quickly as she came, Porcelain went, swiftly moving away from the pair. She had gotten from them what she came for. Both Petro and Auden stayed frozen, until she was out of ear shot. Auden was shaking on the ground as she watched the career girl leave.

"Petro," Auden said after a moment.

"Yeah," he breathed back, finally digesting the undeniable fact that he was still breathing.

"Petro," Auden repeated, jerkily moving to her feet. Petro stood as well, thinking of water, and how they needed to refill their bucket. Auden ran straight towards him though, throwing her arms around him. Petro stiffened at her touch, his eyes widening. His immediate reaction was to protest, to push her away, but he was still in shock. He could not even register such a thought in his brain. All that he knew was that he had almost died, and that Auden was hugging him. Oh, and that she was crying. He could feel her tears wetting the fabric of his tunic.

"I thought she was going to kill you. I-I thought I was going to lose you like we lost Cutter," Auden cried, her limbs still quaking.

Slowly and mechanically, Petro awkwardly moved his arms from his sides, and placed a hand on her back, gently. "We're both fine," he said in a hushed hoarse voice. "Nobody died. Not this time."

* * *

Ranger walked through the village at a relatively brisk pace. Her sword held at the ready, as always. She hadn't expected this whole hunting thing to be so unrewarding. It had been at least a day, maybe more, and yet she hadn't so much as ran into a tribute. It was funny actually. On television, it seemed like staying away from all the action was impossible, that tributes were constantly looking over their shoulders because every couple of minutes some new horror would attack them. Now she was looking for trouble, deliberately and intentionally searching out other tributes with the hope of getting into a fight.

Naturally, she would find herself alone in the vast arena.

She blamed the game makers, personally. Clearly they just didn't want her stirring anything up right now. Maybe if, no when, she won, she would go meet the head and file some sort of complaint. The thought made her smirk. Eve and Madison wouldn't be happy with her if she did that.

With a sigh, she continued walking, opening the door to the nearest house and poking her head in. When she had first started searching the village, she had just been walking through the streets. After a couple hours of that, she'd decided that she should start checking inside the village homes too. She could have passed all of the other tributes and never have known it, because they were hiding from her in those houses. She didn't blame them of course, it was smart; however, she couldn't afford to die due to a lack of thoroughness.

Finding the current building she was in to be empty, Ranger moved onto the next one. Even before she made it to the door, she noticed something different. The door was slightly ajar, instead of closed tightly at most of the houses. Immediately, she could feel her heart rate pick up. Finally, she thought to herself, she found someone.

Carefully, she picked her way up the steps, pushing the door open all the way. She could see that the kitchen and living area was empty, but that didn't mean that the house was vacant. There was still the bedroom to check. Creeping forwards, Ranger gripped the handle to the bedroom door and opened it with one powerful shove. She leapt into the room, brandishing her sword for an attack.

One didn't come. The room was empty, just like the others. Ranger sighed. She must have missed the tribute. Releasing an irritated sigh, she spun around to walk out of the room.

Now the ambush descended. Out of nowhere, she felt someone slam into her from behind, knocking her to the ground. Ranger put her arms out to break her fall, bruising them on the impact. She didn't let the pain get to her though. Rolling over, she landed a solid punch in the jaw of her attacker. They let out a high pitched grunt and threw one back, with significantly less force. Ranger took the hit with little trouble, as she groped the ground above her head for her sword. She'd dropped in it the fall.

Her attacker rubbed her jaw painfully as she also went for her weapon- also a sword- that was tucked in the back of her belt. Ranger looked up into the girl's eyes with deadly intent. It was the girl from District Two.

With newfound vigor, Ranger used her feet to push herself along the floor, finding her sword. Just as the other girl brought her weapon down, Ranger raised hers, blocking the attack successfully. Making use of her foot again, she kicked District Two's hand, knocking her sword loose. Lunging forwards with an animal's ferocity, she used her bare hands to pin Two to the ground, her nails digging into her skin.

Now was her chance, her chance to kill. Her mind acted quickly though. With two career deaths just yesterday, there were things she didn't know about happening with the other tributes. The information would come first, then the kill.

"The other careers, what happened to them. Why are you alone?" Ranger demanded.

"Maybe I don't plan on telling you," Two spat back at her.

"I'll kill you slowly then," Ranger said without hesitation. "I'm not that squeamish, trust me."

The girl from Two laughed. "You think your tough? You haven't got things under control right now, not in the slightest."

With her knees, the other girl heaved Ranger off of her, throwing her backwards against the hallway wall. Two didn't waste any time, within seconds, she was on top of Ranger, her sword pressed against her throat. For some reason, however, she paused, her blade hovering just above the kill. "You came in here, were you looking for a fight?" the girl asked.

"Now you think you can ask questions?" Ranger seethed, venomously struggling as the girl's knees dug into her wrists.

"You're trying to get rid of the competition aren't you?" Two grinned. "That's convenient. Maybe I won't kill you today then. The career packs over if you want to know. We didn't get along, and if you haven't noticed, my District partner died, I have no more ties to them anymore. I could use someone tough to help me pick them off though, someone whose just looking for a way to get themselves further. An alliance for mutual benefit."

Ranger paused, torn. Her natural reaction was to spit, to tell this girl to go grovel to someone who cared; however, the more rational half saw opportunity here. This girl wasn't asking to be friends, she was asking for a hunting partner. Ranger could do that, some company would be nice for a change, maybe. She was never good with people. Her mind shifted to Hayden, to how she needed to get back to him.

"An alliance for mutual benefit. Meaning that once the numbers start dwindling..."

"Then we split. I make no promises about being peaceful about it."

Ranger's mouth suddenly stretched into a wide grin. Two was clearly a girl that took after her own heart. "I could go for that," Ranger said.

Two lifted herself off of Ranger and offered her a hand. "I'm Alexis," she smirked. "And if you don't mind, I'd like our first target to be District One."

* * *

**Hey Now by Augustana**

* * *

**A/N: No deaths, but definitely some plot furthering and some action. Alexis and Ranger are in an alliance now. Porcelain is on the prowl, and everyone's kind of scattered. We're about half way through the arena chapters now too. Either 9 or 10 more to go until all has been decided (I am debating combining the next two chapters that I have scheduled if your wondering why the number is suddenly not as concrete as I said it was)**

**Yup. Hope you liked this chapter. I think I'm happy with the first half, but just eh about the second. I'm sort of tired though, and want to get an update in today, so yeah.**

**(p.s. I know I said that I'm not going to bother readers about reviewing, because I'll be here whether you are or not. This isn't me bothering you though. I thought I'd just point out that this story is currently, at this moment, at 277 reviews and Fading to Darkness is at 287 reviews. 10 more reviews and I'll have surpassed my first story. That's really going to mean a lot to me. So thanks to everyone who has been reviewing and will review in the future. You all really make writing that much more gratifying.)**

**Until next time,**

**Tales**


	33. Royals

Royals

"And we'll never be royals, it don't run in our blood, that kind of luxe just ain't for us"

* * *

The sound of moving boulders filled the room as Dust and Dice heaved the heavy rocks to the side. The throne room looked rather desolate under the moonlight of the fifth night in the arena. The black smears of settled ash coated the walls, and the destroyed Cornucopia carried the ghost of a forgotten life time. Traces of the career's presence were all over the room- a forgotten food wrapper here, a charred piece of fabric there. The place made Dice feel rather lonely.

"I don't see anything useful," Dice called over as he cleared his area of debris. The two had come back to the giant castle through the hidden entrance Dust had told Avell about in hopes that the careers might have left something useful behind. The bomb that the kid from Three had set off was beyond effective though. The best thing they'd discovered so far was a broken shard a knife blade.

"Yeah," Dust sighed, kicking a rock to the side. "This is kind of disappointing."

Dice didn't respond. He knew that Dust was hoping to find more than a few rations of food in the Cornucopia. The boy was hoping that one of the careers might be lingering around the area, and that the two of them would be able to take them out. Two full days had passed since Vlad and Rocio died, Dust had been sure that walking into the castle would lead them straight into a fight. The gamemakers surely wanted some action now, and both of the boys preferred a good fight with a career over being randomly attacked by mutts under the cover of the night. At least a tribute fight might get them somewhere in the Games.

"Wait, over there," Dice said, spotting a backpack sitting against the wall, looking completely unscathed. He exchanged a look with Dust and the two ran over to it, examining the pack with mild suspicion.

Dust decided to take the initiative, kneeling down and unzipping the bag. A wide grin swept across his face as he found it stocked to the brim with supplies. It was like someone had set the bag aside, just out of the blast range in hopes of having supplies to escape with. "Looks like that kid really did have our best interest at heart," Dust laughed, knowing that Avell was the only one who would have known enough to set some supplies aside.

"I don't think he put those there for us," Dice smirked.

"We'll call it payment for his life, right? We let him go the other day, he gives us a backpack full of food. We're solid," Dust said, throwing the pack over his shoulder.

"Sounds good to me," Dice nodded. "Where to next?"

"You pick this time. I think I've got everything I need for the moment," Dust said.

After a minute of thought, Dice shrugged. "The crop fields then? Maybe someone will be looking for dinner there."

Dust nodded cheerfully and the two slipped out of the room, ready for the days to come.

* * *

Avell lay in the grass with his arms tucked behind his head, watching the stars. A wide grin was stretched on his face as he tried to pick out the constellations above. Beside him, a pack he had taken from the Cornucopia rested, still almost full, and a shiny knife was tucked away in his belt, reflecting the moon in its blade. He hadn't expected the euphoria to last so long, but it hadn't gone away yet. All he could think about was how brilliantly his Games were going.

Phase one of his Victory plan had gone perfectly. Everyone back at home knew that it was he who blew up the career's camp. He had killed both Vlad and Rocio. There had been just enough drama during his mission too to really show how excellent a tribute he was. That moment with Alexis- he had felt fear- it was perfect. Just perfect.

With a content sigh, he thought about the future, about the luxuries they would give him when he got back home. He would be praised, of course: Avell the career killer. He grinned.

Phase two was going to be more complicated of course. Now that the careers were injured and licking their wounds, he had to start getting rid of the competition. This had always been the vaguest part of his plan. There just was no systematic way to say "kill the remaining thirteen tributes." Hmm, thirteen was a rather large number when he thought about it. Sometimes there were bloodbaths that left fewer tributes alive. The career pack was weak even before he blew up their home base really.

Idly, he wondered about Alexis, remembering her threat. His blast hadn't killed Porcelain Braavos, were they hunting him now? He doubted that they were coherent enough to do so. They probably weren't even together anymore. Alexis didn't sound like she planned on hanging around District One anymore. Of course, he couldn't be so optimistic in his assumptions. It was that sort of thing that would cost him his life. No, he would pretend that the remaining five careers were all still together and functioning until something proved him wrong.

In the distance, he heard the sound of wolves howling at the night sky, and he glanced up, his eyes alight. With his hand he grabbed the knife from his belt just in case. The sound seemed too far away to be aimed at him, but he couldn't be too safe. Maybe there would be a canon within the next couple of minutes. that would certainly comfort him. It would make things easier too.

To calm himself down, he began to cycle the names through his mind again, analyzing the competition for the thousandth time. He knew all of their names, and a little bit about everyone's individual skill set. At some point or another, he'd imagined each and every one of their deaths.

The howls suddenly got louder. Now there was no denying it, he was sure that they would be appearing to attack him any minute now. Raising to his feet, Avell slipped his pack onto his back and grabbed a second knife from its depths. Squinting through the darkness, he looked towards the forest and waited, as he knew running from mutts would be pointless. He had made camp too far away from any buildings to hope for an escape route.

Then he saw her.

From the forest, a tall thin girl with ghostly pale skin and dark red hair emerged. Avell grinned. It was Porcelain Braavos.

Crouching back down in the grass, he observed her. She appeared to be running from the wolves, but as she got further away from the forest, she slowed. The wolves had stopped chasing her, probably because they'd served their purpose. Porcelain was within his sights now, there would be a fight. That's all the Gamemakers really wanted. His smile widened as she straightened and looked around, her expression arrogant but bitter. He could see the cut above her eye. Did his explosion give that to her? He hoped it did.

Sneaking forwards in the grass, he gauged the distance between the two of them. There were pluses to having two knives. It meant he would be able to throw one at her and still have something to defend himself with in case he missed. He didn't want to miss though. He had the advantage here, and he needed to utilize it. Throwing knives was obviously not one of his strong points. He needed to get closer first.

Luckily, Porcelain didn't seem to be going anywhere. She turned towards the forest, her eyes narrowing as she stared at it. Crossing her arms he sat down in the grass slowly, still looking prepared to run in case more mutts appeared. Ha, she was going to make camp there for the night. That gave him time. Minutes passed as he continued to creep closer. Slowly, one hundred yards turned into fifty, which turned into twenty five. He was close to her, very close.

Raising his arm, he lined up his knife, one quick throw, landing in her skull that's all it would take. He hadn't practiced throwing knives during training, nor did he think the weapon he was holding was specifically meant for throwing. It couldn't be that hard though. At home he'd watched several tutorials outlining the technique for this kind of attack. It was all about the follow through.

Holding his breath he wound his arm back, aligned his aim with Porcelain's head, and threw his arm forwards, releasing the knife. With bated breath he watched as it arched through the air, flying towards her. It was on target, by some miracle it was going to hit her. And it did. It hit her, but not in the head. No, the blade landed by her foot, grazing her pant leg. His stomach knotted: Crap. Porcelain reacted on instinct, leaping to her feet and throwing a knife of her own blindly in his direction. He ducked low into the grass, dodging the knife.

"Who's there," Porcelain seethed angrily. Avell raised his head boldly, brandishing his remaining knife defensively. He was prepared for a fight. To his surprise, a wide grin broke across Porcelain's face when she saw him. "Avell Watts," she said with a smile. "Dear, I've been looking all over for you."

She drew another knife from her belt- she appeared to have seven of them there- and threw it at Avell. He dodged it again, diving to the side this time. Her aim was to par with the most skilled careers, a bad sign. Avell gritted his teeth as he dove out of the way of a second knife. He was too far away from her right now. She apparently was a long ranged fighter, and he needed to get closer if he was going to be able to match her.

Grabbing one of the knives she had thrown, he chucked it right back at her. Without the careful concentration that he put into throwing the knife earlier, his aim was sorely off this time, sending the knife straight into the ground. Porcelain laughed as she sent a third one after him, quickly followed by a fourth. He couldn't dodge them both, so he turned sideways, allowing the first to cut a deep gash in his shoulder. Tripping backwards, Avell landed on his back.

Within seconds Porcelain closed the gap between them. Avell cried out, stabbing forwards with his knife. He slashed through her forearm, making her screech in anger as she grabbed his wrist, twisting it painfully until he had dropped his weapon. Pushing him to the ground, Porcelain got on top of him, pressing her knife carefully against his cheek.

"Please, stop fighting dear. It'll be easier for you," she breathed, looking crazed. "I know it was you who blew up the Cornucopia. You. Ruined. Everything."

"Correction, Alexis Hayden ruined everything. She let me set the bomb you know. She asked me to target you," he said quickly, looking for a way out. He could feel the panic arising in his chest. He knew Panem was all looking for him to show his grit, his fight; however, his advantage was gone and Porcelain was a career. If he was going to live, he'd have to talk his way out of this.

Porcelain laughed. "She and I had a chat just like this you know," she smiled as she cut a thin line of red in his cheek. He tried to struggle away, but he couldn't. This was why he was going to wait to volunteer. He needed more power, more strength, more time to grow. Letting out a slightly pained groan of frustration, he looked away from the knife as he felt the warm trickle of his own blood drip down his cheek and into his hair. "I decided to get you first, than her. She needs more time."

"More time for what?" Avell asked, feeling a chill pass through him. Porcelain didn't respond.

"I talked with your District partner, Auden," the career girl continued.

Avell blanched. Auden? He reminded himself that there had been no new canons. He knew exactly who was alive and who wasn't. Auden was doing just fine, as was the boy she was with, Petro. Porcelain was just trying to scare him. "What about her?"

"We just had a quick chat. It didn't take very long for her to start crying you know. I don't think that boy she was with is very warm and fuzzy towards her," Porcelain purred. Drawing a new knife from her belt, she examined the blade in the moon light. He swallowed- this weapon was coated in dried blood. Was it Auden's blood? Was she okay? He swallowed. He always knew she was going to have to die. It was one of the reasons he befriended her. Pain was part of the Hunger Games experience. He wanted someone to grieve for when it was all said and done.

Fury swelled in his chest. It appeared he had gotten what he had asked for; Auden didn't deserve a fate like this. She was a kind girl, and fragile. She would have broken quickly under Porcelain's blade.

With an infuriated roar, Avell made his best attempt to heave Porcelain off of his body. He squirmed, straining the muscles in his torso while he kicked futilely with his legs. Porcelain's eyes lit up as she took her knife and stabbed it into Avell's shoulder, just above his color bone. He screamed out in pain as white spots poked at his vision. "See, you don't need anymore time. You are perfect now honey," Porcelain smiled sweetly. She stabbed him again, this time driving her knife into his bicep, tearing the muscle apart.

He felt light headed. This pain didn't make any sense. He was going to win the Hunger Games, become a legend. The only pain he was supposed to take away was supposed to be emotional. He wasn't supposed to be tortured. He wasn't supposed to die

Again Avell let out a roar as Porcelain drove her knife into his body again and again. She seemed to be avoiding all of the important organs as she extracted every ounce of exquisite pain from Avell's small body. He screamed louder than any cry of terror or agony that Porcelain had ever heard. At first the ripping cry was blood curdling and conscious. It took several minutes before the boy began to turn mad. Then names intermixed with the cries and moans. The two most common being Mom and Dad.

Porcelain hummed as she went about her work, a cruel smile dancing on her demonic face. The screams pleased her, and when the canon boomed, finally announcing Avell's death, she was sorely disappointed.

She was hoping that the boy would last longer.

* * *

Almost immediately, the sky lit up with the Capitol's seal. Cree watched from her seat beside the river as the boy from District Three replaced it. Her gut twisted. That meant she had almost survived past the half way mark. She outlasted fourteen of the other tributes in the Games.

For some reason the thought didn't make her as happy as she thought it would. She thought that when she made it to this point she would be surrounded by her friends from District One, celebrating in the grand castle with a big meal and a warm atmosphere. But no, instead she was sitting beside the river, cold and lonely.

She never thought that she would miss District Eleven. The people there had been dirty, simple-minded, and poor, but they were also kind and genuine. When she moved they had accepted her, or at least she thought so. She was the one who was arrogant and resentful. Right?

Or maybe this was just an odd year. Maybe it was just Alexis's aggressive disposition that made her look so hatefully towards Cree. Maybe Porcelain was just cold to everyone. Maybe these six careers were not a reflection on the whole of District One and Two. Then why did she feel so wrong?

She let out a frustrated groan and ran her fingers through her hair. She wished she was never reaped, then she could have lived out the rest of her miserable life in District Eleven with her values intact and unquestioned. Laying back in the grass, she stared at the sky. The boy's face was gone, and she felt his absences sorely. Once again, she was alone out here. Then again, was she ever not?

When the sound of voices reached her ears, she thought she was imagining things. She must have finally gone insane, so desperate for real company that her mind was creating people for her to converse with. But looking up, she saw that she recognized the owners of the voices. The boy from Seven and the girl from Eight were just down the bend, kneeling by the river and getting water. The girl was laughing and pointing at the water as she said something that seemed to be exciting. Meanwhile the boy smiled easily as he indulged her. He looked tired, but at the same time, the girl's happiness seemed to ease him slightly.

A sudden wave of emotion hit her with a force. The question burned in her throat so powerfully, that she didn't even care if it cost her her life. She needed an answer. Jumping to her feet, she waved her hands at the pair. "Hey," she called out. "Hey over there." Their heads snapped up, and she watched the color drain from the boy's face. He immediately was scrambling to his feet, pulling on the girl's arm. Eight was not so terrified though. She looked at Cree curiously with confusion in her eyes. Cree sprinted towards them, stopping before she got so close that she scared them off. "I have a question. I need you to answer a question for me," she said.

"Avanna, we need to go," the boy said urgently.

"What question?" the girl ignored him.

"Would you kill him? Has the thought ever crossed your mind once that you are going to have to kill him? If you had to would you?" Cree asked.

"No," the girl said, completely positive with her answer. "I wouldn't be able to."

Cree felt her shoulders sag as her entire world melted beneath her. Her question had been answered, as had all of the questions she had asked since the Games had begun. Nodding, she looked at her feet. "Thank you," she said softly. Then turning around, she began walking, heading to nowhere.

* * *

Petro stared at Auden quietly as she stared at the horizon. She was crying, that was why she wouldn't look at him. Avell's death had been abrupt and unexpected, and it had hit her like no other death could. He thought that maybe he should understand her loss, as his own District partner had died earlier in the Games. He didn't though. He didn't have that sort of bond with Mae. She hated him, just as everyone did. The thought made him sad.

"We shouldn't have given him the gun powder," Auden said quietly. "This was our fault- collateral damage."

He didn't correct her, though he felt that maybe he should. People always used to correct him when he mentioned his mom, but it didn't help. He knew that she would have to come to terms with Avell's death on her own. Other people didn't really help that much in the grieving process. Or at least, that's how it had been for him. Hugging his knees tightly to his chest, Petro sighed.

His arms itched. Just like Lupa had instructed him, he hadn't cut himself in five days now. The fresh wounds that had littered his wrists when he entered the arena were scabbed over and closing now. It made him antsy. Lupa had told him to hold it in. She said he had to preserve his sense of dignity at least, and not allow them all to see him cut. He didn't know if he could hold it in much longer though. Even if it meant showing his father just how much of a disappointment he was, he needed his release. Ever since he entered this forsaken arena, he had been bottling everything up inside. He felt like he was going to explode.

"Go to bed," he told Auden absently. "I'll take first watch. You could use some rest."

She nodded, though secretly she didn't think she was going to be getting any sleep that night. For his sake though, she put her head on the ground, hugged herself tightly, and pretended to go to sleep.

He felt better with her like that. Maybe he should pull out the knife now, while she wasn't aware, and just do it. She would never have to know. Then again, he knew she'd find out eventually if he started now. He needed to get away from her, to be alone. If not for the privacy, then for the reasons that he had held to since he was first forced into this alliance. She was going to betray him eventually. He needed to get away now, before things went too far. They had already gone to far actually. He knew he was too attached to her presence. Any longer, and her death might destroy him almost as much as his mother's did. He couldn't go through that again.

Standing up, he stretched his limbs, looking for one last time at Auden's now sleeping form. He would have to force himself not to miss her company. He was better off on his own. He could die quietly that way. Turning around, he began to walk.

"Are you going somewhere?" Auden hiccupped.

Petro cursed himself. He should have waited longer for her to fall more soundly asleep. He couldn't lie to her though, not this time. "Yeah, Auden, listen. I think it's best if maybe we went our separate ways. I know Avell just died, but maybe it's better this way. No attachments, you know," he said lamely.

Auden flinched at his words, her eyes bloodshot and teary. "No, you can't go," she said. "It's not going to get better if we're both alone."

Petro looked at her sadly. "This is how things are though Auden. It's not just because we're in the Hunger Games. People die, people we care about. They die because they don't care about you as much as you want them to. Okay? It's just better to be alone. No attachments means you can't hurt about anyone. You should know this by now. You said it yourself, people weren't friendly back in District Three right? You said that they... that you didn't have many friends. It's not you Auden, it's just people," he said, trying to get her to see.

"Is that what you think?" Auden sniffled quietly. "Because I don't think that. I'm happy I knew Avell. I'm happy because he was one of the best friends I've ever had. It wasn't easier beforehand when everyone hated me because they thought I was weird."

"You're not weird," Petro sighed, his brows knitting. He rubbed his temples. He shouldn't be telling her that. It was just going to make things harder on the both of them. Why did he just say that?

"And you're not alone," Auden said quietly back, her big eyes boring into him. "Petro, please don't leave. I need you, and not because you're an emotional crutch. I need you because I've never met anyone who cared as much as you do." Her words hit him hard, so hard he could barely process him. She was still staring at him with fire in her eyes. Where had this side of her come from? All he had seen so far was this insecure girl who was barely coping with the arena. Maybe he had misjudged her. Maybe... Maybe she was right.

"Petro please," she repeated again, her voice barely a whisper.

Slowly, he lowered himself back onto the ground, knowing he was probably going to regret the decision later. He just couldn't walk away, not when she was staring at him like that. "Just for a little bit longer," he said aloud. Her pale face broke into a sad grin. That's what he had said when he accepted the alliance- that it would just be for a little while. Now it had lasted five days in, going on six.

"Maybe I should take first watch," she said, wiping her eyes with her hands. He nodded, scooting back to his original spot beside her, and laid down. Auden watched as he drifted off. A fierce sense of protection cut through her grief. She had lost two of them now, her friends, she wouldn't lose Petro. No, he was the last one left.

* * *

**Royals by Lorde**

* * *

**A/N RIP Avell Watts**

**So Avell, I know he was a very popular tribute in these Games, like I'm sure a bunch of people are about to get really mad that he's dead. Want to know a secret though? I almost didn't accept him. When I saw his form, my first thought was that he was a bit cliche. I have seen a few tributes from other stories that followed a similar mold: non-career district tribute being obsessed with Games, sometimes being volunteers, sometimes not. I thought it was silly to stick these traits in a 12 year old and that he was just being tier up to become Lindon 2.0. Then I received Auden and everything changed. I saw her and thought it would be nice if she had a District partner who actually really cared for her. When I looked at Avell through that lens, he suddenly became this incerdibly deep character who led tons of potential. He was complex and a bit unpredictable, but also sympathetic and likeable. I LOVED writing him. That being said, he had his purpose to serve- splitting the career pack- and after that he became harder to make plot for. Loners are never easy to write when they are actually alone. That's why I killed him now Instead of later. figured I could develop Porcelain a bit more through his rather gruesome death. He never really was a good fighter you know. He earned his 9 in training through his strategic mind, intellegence and also partly through his confidence. In the end though he was a bit arrogant and was a small 12 year old. He never could have won a straight up battle with a career. Thanks a billion to Dium Ore for the submission.**

**So yeah, we are almost down to final 12. Any predictions for final 8?**

**Until next time,**

**-Tales**


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